


Love's Second Chance

by KDElliott



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Love Never Dies - Lloyd Webber, Phantom - Susan Kay, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Character Death Fix, F/M, Fix-It, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, True Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:34:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 36,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25560670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KDElliott/pseuds/KDElliott
Summary: Erik moves to America but can't forget the love of his life. As much as he wants to let Christine live her perfect life without his interference, he must hear her sing again.Christine's life is not as perfect as he thinks. Her painful secrets will soon out whether she's ready to face them or not.-LND fix-it fic. Throwing in quite a few OCs. Not for Raoul lovers (sorry y'all)
Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Raoul de Chagny/Christine Daaé
Comments: 30
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The first few chapters will follow Love Never Dies with my own fixes. I enjoyed the Leroux, Kay, and Forsyth books and allowed them all to influence my interpretation. After that, you'll hit my original story additions. I'm seriously pro-Erik so expect a happier ending for him. 
> 
> Large sections are first person point of view. I labeled them with the character name to avoid confusion, I hope. 
> 
> This is my first posting. The work is mostly finished, I think. I'm sure I'll mess with each chapter a bit before I post 
> 
> Comments and kudos would be appreciated.

The Aria 1905  
(Gustave)  
Mother wept when she read the aria that arrived in the post.  
As per usual, she had opened it and begun humming the notes as she read. I heard her falter. I glanced up from my book.  
She tried to begin humming again but gasped. I saw that her hands had begun shaking. I closed my book.  
The tears began falling down her cheeks. She must have read it a half dozen times.  
I’d seen her frown at music. I’d seen her laugh at it. I’d even seen her cry over some but this was different. She was shaken by it. She didn’t move for a long time although she closed the folder. Even after her tears dried, she simply stared wistfully. I followed the direction of her eyes but could see nothing unusual in the gardens through the open doors of the veranda. The roses did seem to be thriving but that could not be it.  
Then I realized it was that melancholy look. I used to believe it was just a happy one. Mother often had a similar look when she talked to Monsieur Khan. He’d told the best stories. I really loved the ones that starred the masked magician. Sometimes she’d give me that look when I sang with her. I always saw it when I was singing alone. Sometimes it was when I was reading in the library, especially if the book I'd chosen was not 'what boys my age read'. How many times had Father taken a book from me grumbling that there was no way I could comprehend it and he didn't want me to mess it up.  
I had come to learn that that particular look must have a past to it. It meant she was thinking about a happier but long gone time. Although I knew it was often directed at me, she wasn't sad about me. It was like she wished to share something important to her with me but couldn't. It meant I was important to her but she didn't think I'd understand yet. I knew one day she would and we could talk about the happy time together. I greatly anticipated that day.  
I wanted to know why this score would cause that reaction. That would probably have to wait as well.  
“Maman?” I asked placing my book in its spot on the shelf.  
“Yes, darling?”  
“Are you feeling well? We don’t have to go to the park today.”  
She opened her arms which I willingly moved into. Maman loved hugs. I wanted to make her as happy as I could. She had few reasons to smile most days. I wondered if I was the only reason she was ever happy.  
"Of course we are going my darling! Let me put this away and we're off."  
She rose and hesitated just a second. Deciding, she took the folder up the stairs. Normally, she would leave offers on Father's desk so they could discuss them. More precisely so he could mock them, complain about the pittance offered, berate her concerning her love of music, and agree to the terms based on his latest win/loss record.  
She drifted back down the stairs. She moved with such grace sometimes I wondered if she walked or floated.  
"Not a good one?"  
"Actually, it's beautiful." She answered softly. "Unfortunately, it is for a show in America."  
We'd gotten lots of offers over the last two or three years from there. The thought of maybe going had ignited my imagination. I dove right in and read as much as I could about America. Gold rushes, Indians, adventures to be had every step of the way. One day I'd go just to travel from one coast to the other and see all the sights.  
"Oh that would be amazing! Cowboys, New York, beaches!"  
"Ah, so you want to travel across the Atlantic Ocean?" A glimmer entered her eye. "Perhaps we should see if Papa is up for an adventure?"  
We headed off for the park but I was concerned. I honestly thought Maman wanted to go and sing the aria far more than she stated. If Father was not in the right mood, we'd never go.  
It was a week later before she took a chance.  
We were seated for dinner when she decided to give it a try. Something had gone well in a business deal or maybe he'd won at the tables. Whatever the reason, Father was in a good mood.  
"I received an offer to sing," Maman began.  
"Really?" He sounded so condescending. "When did you get this… offer?"  
I despised that tone of voice. Being ten years old, I'd come to expect it from most adults. My mother didn't deserve it. It was especially grating when it was used with her. I swallowed my growing anger.  
"It arrived by post last week, I believe." She nervously set the contract letter on the table. I wanted to tell her she wasn't hiding her feelings in the matter but he could be oblivious at times. "Very generous."  
"Where?" He lifted the letter barely holding it with two fingers as if it was soiled.  
"It's in New York." She sounded apologetic.  
"America?" I feared he would toss the idea without consideration.  
Just as he was about to continue, there was a knock at the door. The butler slipped out of the room and came back with a letter. Father took it. Read it. Read it again. Shook his head and laughed.  
"Good news, darling?" She smiled with him.  
"Here is a note stating that this contract doubles the previous offer and includes first class passage aboard the Atlantic Queen scheduled for next week." He laughed again. "I think the impresario got tired of waiting for your answer."  
"I do think it would be a wonderful experience for Gustave," Mother touched his hand.  
He slung back the last of his drink, "Why not? I'll send the answer tomorrow."  
It was better than that. Father wrote the reply and sent it on its way to the telegraph office half a bottle of whiskey later. He'd added a condition requiring accommodations for the three of us plus an increase in the compensation. I hoped that did not cause the offer to be rescinded.  
I was ecstatic that an answer confirming his requests arrived before breakfast the next morning.  
That night, though, I could barely contain my excitement. An ocean voyage, a new country, a new continent, I was wide awake when she came in to say goodnight.  
"The letter mentions a place called Coney Island."  
"Coney Island? Could we go to the beach? I want to learn to swim."  
She laughed. Oh my, did I love to hear her laugh! It was like music. It was a rare gem to be treasured.  
"You'll have to work," she warned, sitting on the edge of my bed. "It's a difficult piece. If I'm to sing, you must help me practice."  
I grinned. "I thought the saying was 'all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy' not 'all play and no work'."  
"Ah, but managers have to earn their pay." She kissed my nose.  
"What's my pay?" I thought this game was fun.  
"An all expenses paid trip to America."  
It was seven days until we were to leave. There were a lot of preparations to do in a week. If we missed the boat, we wouldn't arrive on time to perform in the season's closing gala.


	2. The Trip

The Trip  
(Christine)   
I was used to unsolicited requests for my singing. Grateful for them, if I was to be honest. Raoul would never stand for me actively seeking employment. Such action was beneath a vicomtess. Singing when someone came after me could be explained with an air of pride about my abilities. His brother Philippe still complained that it was unbecoming of a lady to prance around stage. Raoul himself had no comprehension of how music made me feel. It was in my blood, my bones, every cell of my being. Singing was oxygen. To him it was a fee to cover a debt.   
The requests usually included the name of the opera, maybe a couple of pieces I was to sing, or the name of people who'd associated themselves with the project. I had received numerous requests from New York in the last year. As they had progressed, they had become more elaborate and offered more money. This request was the second from some place called Phantasma and came with a single score.   
The music was haunting. The lyrics told a story of love and loss but with the hopeful note that love never dies. It spoke to my heart, clenching it into a fist of emotion that I could not control. How could this piece be so much like one he'd write? I could almost feel him in it. I missed him so much. Sometimes it felt as though I was broken deep inside without him. I was only half a person. If only he hadn't left that night. Perhaps if we'd been together, he would have been safe.   
He was never far from my thoughts.   
My life was not what I expected. It definitely wasn't what he'd wanted for me. When Erik sent me away from him all those years ago beneath the opera house, I knew it was because he did not wish for me to suffer the difficulties we would have faced. He had killed. He looked like a monster. No one would have seen past his deformity. He would have died for his crime by law or by mob.   
I tried to talk to him once, to tell him that we'd made a mistake. I failed.   
Not a day later, that awful end was exactly what happened. He was spotted in the street by le gendarme and a chase occurred. His mask was found with a lot of blood near the Seine.   
I couldn't help but relive the pain of his sending me away. I was hit with a fresh wave of grief over his death. I only wanted to see him once more! Tell him all that was in my heart. Sing with him. This song had opened a raw, gaping hole in my soul. He was dead and I'd never be able to be whole again.   
My beautiful boy was watching me. My sweet, observant little boy. I had to pull it together for him. Gustave was my light no matter how dark things became. He saved me from sinking in the darkness. I may not be whole but with him I could still live.   
"Maman? Are you feeling sea sick?"  
I knew he was concerned. I rarely stopped in the middle of a song and never in the middle of a single word.  
"I believe I am. Perhaps we should stop for now." Gustave looked so stricken I had to add another thought. "If I lie down, I'll feel much better."  
"Of course, Maman. Should I stay or go?"  
He took such great care of me. "I want you to go find some fun. Just be back in time to change for dinner."  
He smiled. He loved to be independent and did not get the chance very often. There weren't many opportunities at home in Paris. Out the door he went with a final confirming glance on my direction.   
The song was killing me softly but I could do nothing except sing it. It was like an addiction. I had to sing it. How? How could someone write like my Erik? Was this punishment for not making him stay? Was this punishment for my iniquities? Was it a chance at redemption?   
Redemption? Where had that thought come from? How could anything be redeemed? I had lost everything except my perfect Gustave. Surely I was punished. There was nothing to redeem.   
For once I was thankful that Raoul gambled. He would never have agreed to the trip if not for our debt and the ridiculous price the American was willing to pay. I had to sing the song. I just had to! It was as if I had not been alive for years waiting for this music to bring life back into my brittle bones.   
Our destination seemed so far away. I hugged the aria to my chest and wept.


	3. The Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Made it to America!

The Arrival   
(Erik)   
She was arriving today. My Christine would be in America. I'd long since given up on sleep. She was coming back to me after more than a decade.   
It had taken years to convince her to come. I'd arranged for multiple offers from multiple establishments. I'd finally had the nerve to approach her myself but it took sending the aria. Did she recognize me in it? Is that why she agreed? Had she missed me as I missed her?   
I couldn't pick her up at the dock. Oh how I wanted to be one to greet her! Instead I was regulated to standing on the warehouse roof and watching from above. I couldn't be seen, not yet.   
No, not ever, I reminded myself.   
I would just watch from afar. I told myself having her near, having her sing would be enough. I only needed to hear her sing again. I only wanted to hear her sing one more time! I needed to breathe again. I needed to be whole again. If she sang, I could be.   
I needed to know what we had was real. Bad thought. No, that wouldn't work. What we did was just a dream, nothing more.   
I did not have to betray the fact that I was still alive. She did not need to know I survived. It would be better for her. She was happy. I had no right to upset that. I could stay dead to her. I would not invade her life.   
Even I wasn't foolish enough to believe the drivel I was telling myself. I tried though.   
Reporters shouting questions and onlookers waiting for loved ones filled the dock. I briefly considered my ability to hide in that crowd. No, not with reporters milling around. They would have far too many questions for the mysterious Mr. Y.   
Then she was there. Grace draped in royal purple silk. My heart stopped in my chest. There was no air available. I gripped the metal guardrail so tightly I feared breaking my fingers. As if an angel had suddenly appeared on the dock. My Christine.   
My heart dropped to the ground below.   
She looked so forlorn. I saw the smile, the polite nods, but her eyes, her amazing eyes were filled with sadness. Why? Why would my Christine be sad?   
The boy joined her. Her child. His son. When Dr. Gangle had mentioned it was passage for three, I was so happy for Christine even as my heart had shattered. He had given her everything: home, title, family. I could see light in her when she looked at him.   
Maybe I was mistaken about the sadness. Maybe I was 'projecting' my own on her. Wasn't that what Ms. Fleck was going on about after reading that book last month?   
Then I saw him. The Vicomte de Chagny followed her. I winced and started to look away from him. There was a slight tilt to his walk, a fierce concentration on what lay ahead. My brow furrowed. The man was drunk! Insolent boy! To treat her in such a way! The disrespect! I fought the urge to storm down there and punch him for such terrible behavior.   
He began to be agitated at the crowds. I could see Christine wilting, holding the boy tight. Protecting him? Was I projecting or seeing more than I ought?   
My welcome committee arrived. Le vicomte did not seem impressed although the boy was quite taken with their appearance. Mr. Squelch was a true mountain of a man. Ms. Fleck may have barely stood four feet tall but she was more woman than many. Dr. Gangle was taller than I with the absolute flare of a showman extraordinaire. Even dressed in fashionable attire, my committee was a sight to behold.   
The vicomte acted as though he may not allow them to escort him and his family. I watched as my astute partners lead first Gustave and then Christine into the carriage. He really had no choice but to follow.   
Once they were safely on their way, I felt able to move.   
I would not go to the hotel. I would simply allow Dr. Gangle handle the final details.   
At least that's what I told myself all the way back to Phantasma.


	4. The Hotel

The Hotel  
(Raoul)  
Things weren't going well. I despised the freaks that escorted us to the Phantasma Hotel. I grumbled the entire drive. Christine held Gustave close. I was grateful. The boy was practically bouncing off his seat making the trip that much worse. I was getting a headache.   
I actually wanted to be excited for my son but I could not believe that our so-called host would snub us so publicly. He was to have met us at the dock.   
Was that reporter correct? Did this Mr. Y think he could treat us like trash just because we had some debts? There wasn't enough money in the world to pay for my dignity. I decided that the price for the song had just doubled. Tripled! Mr. Y would regret his insolence.   
The boy kept tilting his head as he stared at the decor. It was a tad distracting. 

The hotel was something to behold. It took Gustave a minute but he realized what was 'wrong' with the façade. There were odd half masks worked into every detail. If he looked at the wall one way, it was swirls of nonsense. If he tilted the other way, he could see a half mask, a little like the ones used to represent theater. But none of them were whole masks. Each would only cover a little more than half a face, the forehead, nose, and cheek. They fit together like a weird yin-yang design he'd seen on the Asian figurine in his uncle's home. 

Christine watched as her son studied the building. She knew he loved architecture. She had bought him many books on the subject. She tried to discern what had caught his attention. Her breath vanished when she saw the masks. She told herself she was being silly. It was just a theme. He was dead. 

(Raoul)   
I totally missed all the hints. I didn't even notice them until I was leaving days later. Things were clearer when my head was.   
"Take care with that!" I snapped at the porter. The boy nearly dropped Christine's trunk but Mr. Squelch had caught it easily.   
We followed the bellboy in his smart red uniform to the elevator. He ushered us into the penthouse suite. It was a massive double suite. Mr. Y had placed a piano in the main parlor of the room with our bedroom en suite. Dining accommodations were shifted to the boy's side of the connecting double doors. I was pleased to see this gave me access to two well stocked in room bars.   
I caught Christine's frown when I sighed in relief as the young man showed me both. What did she care? She would be busy singing. I'd entertain myself right here. I poured a small whiskey while the rest of the items were brought into the rooms. The liquid burned my throat. The ache in my head dispersed. So much better. A quality drink indeed. I poured another.   
It took forever before the help finally left. Then, of course, Gustave had to explore and discuss. He took the music thing the freaks had given him apart. He had to explain how it all fit together before putting back the pieces to let it play. He just kept chattering.  
Christine had been strange the whole trip. She'd been more quiet and withdrawn. She would stare at the aria mesmerized. She'd barely acknowledged me or the time I was giving her. It seemed as if that song was all that mattered. She should be grateful. She should be fawning over me in gratitude for allowing her music. Had she forgotten what she owed me?   
I didn't mean to snap at her but she just didn't get it. This irritating Mr. Y had snubbed me, us. I was the Vicomte de Chagny for goodness sake! Mr. Y was to have met us, not send a freak show. Christine never seemed to understand what our title was supposed to mean. Would she never grow up? We were the Vicomte and Vicomtess de Chagny. Why was this woman so ridiculous at times? How dare she lay the blame for this spectacle at my feet? She didn't care about the fact I had to rearrange appointments and business meetings to deal with this adventure as she called it. Maybe I should insist on leaving tonight. I took another sip of the fine whiskey. It'd be a shame to not drink it. 

(Erik)  
The argument caught my ear. My hearing was more acute than a bat's, as the Daroga liked to say. I knew I shouldn't be there. It wasn't my fault that eavesdropping was second nature.   
I stood on the balcony enjoying the light wind. Sure, I always haunt random balconies for fun. I sagged against the wall. What was I doing?  
They were arguing over his drinking. Then it was over practicing. There was a mention of his debt. Gambling, maybe the newspaper reporters had been right.   
Then the argument turned to the boy. I fought to not intervene. The boy had done no wrong. Leave him out of your drunken rages, I nearly screamed.   
Was this how he treated my Christine and her child?   
Christine's voice was low, controlled. His was slurred, louder than necessary. She offered to just leave if he was so upset. I stiffened awaiting his answer. I was grateful the child interrupted their conversation.   
She couldn't leave. Not when we were so close to being whole again.   
I would speak to Christine. I needed to speak with her.   
I had no choice, of course. I needed to see if she was okay. Were these arguments normal? She was supposed to have a good life without me. What I'd heard in their room didn't sound like a good life. I had to hear it from her lips that she was happy.   
I couldn't do that with him in the room. I would have to get him out of the room. That could be easy enough if my suspicions were correct.   
The boy would be sent to bed soon.   
Just a little patience, I told myself. I only had to wait a little longer before I'd be standing face to face with my Christine again.   
I stepped through a nearby balcony. I found a porter and handed him a note with explicit delivery instructions.


	5. Alive & Interrupted Evening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how would Beneath A Moonless Sky work without an orchestra to accompany the conversation?  
> I decided to quit rewriting it and just post.  
> As promised, I labelled the first person point of view by character.  
> I plan to post a few more today. Enjoy!
> 
> 8-10-20 update:  
> I goofed and left out a chapter. I simply added it to the end of this one since I wasn't sure what would happen if I just stuck in a different chapter 6. Sorry. :-)

Alive  
(Christine)  
I knew not to leave the toy on the floor where it had been forgotten. Raoul would have broken it if he'd tripped over it.  
Gustave didn't intend to forget it there. He had been so exhausted from the trip, the dinner out, the hotel to explore I knew he did not realise where the toy had been left. He was usually more careful than that. I smiled. I was glad my son was enjoying the trip so far.  
I wasn't sure what to do about Raoul. I'd spent most of the ride across the ocean concerned he'd fall overboard. Now he had left. He'd find the nearest bar no doubt. The note had been an apology for not meeting us. Raoul had grumbled that it was pathetic. Mr. Y had humbly explained he'd gotten busy and had to send his emissaries. Raoul could not believe that he'd be so rude and worthless in his dealings. He'd sneered that apparently there was no such thing as a useful American.  
I had no idea how long he'd be gone but I could guess the state in which he'd return. I doubted it would be one that I would enjoy dealing with. I began turning off the lights. The one in the washroom would provide enough illumination if he returned tonight.  
I sighed. Last one and off to bed. The balcony doors flew open with a gust of wind.  
The Phantom stood before me.  
My Angel of Music stood before me.  
Erik stood before me.  
But wasn't he dead?  
My world went black. 

(Erik)  
My Christine stood before me. She was so agonizingly beautiful. Her chestnut hair was swept away from her face. A pale blue dress cascaded from her shoulders to just above the floor.  
I ached to hold her. I just wanted to run to her, grab her in my arms, and never let go.  
Her eyes went wide as she gasped.  
She wilted. Seeing me like that had been too much. I covered the distance between us in two strides.  
I knelt at her side. My shaking hands hovered just above her. I caressed her check before I carefully lifted her into the cradle of my arms.  
I stood holding her to me, feeling her weight, inhaling her scent. Her skin was so soft against my cheek. Her hair still smelled of lavender. I never wanted to let go. I fought the urge to simply walk away with her. I could easily step out the door and… no. How many times had I made her choices for her? Why would I even think she'd stay with me? That argument I'd heard could have been an aberration due to the long trip.  
I forced myself to set her in the plush chair and took the footstool for myself.  
My eyes hungrily ate every detail of her as I waited. 

(Christine)  
He was dead. He'd been dead for years. I'd mourned him for a decade. Yet, I felt myself gliding through the air. I was enveloped in him. My soul soared.  
But my Erik was long gone. My eyes fluttered. It was a dream, right?  
I felt those long delicate fingers that could coax living symphonies from dead ivory brush hair from my face.  
I wanted to stay here, asleep. If I woke he'd vanish, wouldn't he? I'd be alone again.  
My eyes opened to see the gold flecked black pools filled with love. His astounding eyes!  
"My Erik." I whispered afraid he'd vanish as every dream does.  
I leaned towards him. He laid his palm against my cheek. I took that hand in my own. He was real.  
I wanted to weep. I wanted to laugh. I wanted…  
I flinched away. "How dare you! You lied!"  
He sat back, eyes wide. I shook with rage.  
"I should have known this was you! This music is too much you. How dare you come to me now!"  
Sorrow crashed over me. 

(Erik)  
For just a moment I thought she was mine once again. She'd whispered my name and it was the most melodious sound in the world. I'd longed to hear my name on her lips again.  
Then it all went wrong.  
She became so angry at me. She pushed from me hissing her words. I'm sure she was concerned about waking the boy or she'd surely have screamed at me.  
"Please," I didn't know what I was asking for. "Please," I begged.  
Could I blame her vehement reaction? I couldn't think. I only wanted to hold her again. To take her into my arms.  
Had she forgotten that night? Our night? What about our music? Was none of it real?  
"I mean you no harm," I pleaded. My arms opened to her.  
I couldn't breathe. 

(Christine)  
The anger melted as quickly as it had come. He looked so desperate staring at me. He opened his arms in supplication.  
I wanted to be in those arms. Back in those arms, safe and loved.  
I buried my face in my hands.  
Where had he been? Why had he left me? Why was he back?  
"But that's all there ever is. Just harm and tears and loneliness." I whispered, slumping back. 

(Erik)  
I leaned forward on the footstool, our knees nearly touching. My hands dropped onto my legs. She would not come to me.  
"I'm sorry." I answered. "I meant to have you come and sing and," I gulped, "Never know."  
I ran my hand over my hair. "I just wanted to be with you again."  
Wanted, needed, craved, no language existed to explain.  
I could barely say the words, "I didn't mean to invade your life."

(Christine)  
I leaned forward, drawn to his voice once more. That perfect tenor wrapped in sorrow. The voice I had longed to hear. The one I'd dreamed about.  
My hand slid along my thigh, closer to his, "I've missed you, Erik. I missed you so much."  
My own voice betrayed me in a sob, "Why did you leave me?"

(Erik)  
My fingers entwined hers. My skin felt electric at her touch. The music in my head soared, ripping my heart away. I was there, as if the past decade vanished. My Christine once again within reach.  
"That night was real." I whispered in awe the words escaping.  
Sometimes I thought it was a dream. Sometimes I thought it was a nightmare.  
It was my exquisite torture as every second flooded my memory. 

(Christine)  
I couldn't breathe at his touch. At his words, I was transported back to that moonless night. Back to the night I'd left Raoul raging in our home. I hadn't known what angered him so but I had not felt safe. I'd not felt safe for years.  
I'd run to Erik that night. He was my protector, my guide. I went to admit everything and beg to be taken away.  
Instead, I arrived too distraught to speak. As he held me, I'd felt the electricity. I could hear the music our souls shared. I gave myself willingly. All I'd wanted was him. If I was honest, it was still what I wanted.  
"I loved you. I chose you." I tried to bite back the tears looking up from our hands to his eyes. "And you left me. Alone."  
I felt myself crumbling.  
"I needed you," my voice betrayed me before I could add the words 'to save me'.

(Erik)  
I felt as though I was dying. I took a shaky breath, she was so close.  
I'd taken advantage. She had been so upset that night. She could not have been thinking straight. Why didn't she understand?  
Needed me? She had needed me to not give in.  
"I loved you but you had a husband. I had to leave."  
I couldn't destroy her life. She deserved the Cinderella fantasy not the gargoyle nightmare. 

(Christine)  
Of course he'd think he needed to leave. I was always his first thought. How to protect me, even how to protect me from him. He probably thought he'd taken advantage of me. He'd been so unloved, he could not recognize it when it was freely given. Oh, how my heart broke for him!  
I caressed his face as I slowly reiterated, "I loved you."

(Erik)  
My heart was rent into a million pieces. Why had I left her? What a fool I was! She said she chose me. Surely I was strong enough then to have protected her no matter what. We could have left together that night. Instead, I'd left her and when I tried to go back, fate punished me for my impudence.  
"I was wrong. I am so sorry."  
I felt deflated, decimated.

(Christine)  
Tears waited to fall from my eyes. Would they ever stop? I wanted them to evaporate. I didn't want to cry.  
"It is too late for regrets now, Erik."  
I shook my head sadly and stood. I needed to put distance between us. I couldn't think with him so close.  
I'd given myself to him and he'd rejected me. Life was too cruel for second chances. Fate's trap was sprung and I'd die in it. My only option was to make the best of what I had. It was far too late to repair our lives. We would have to resign ourselves to be half people.  
"Now there are no choices, Erik."

(Erik)  
She moved from me. I had made a grave mistake. I had missed my one chance at happiness. I'd missed my chance to be a whole person.  
I stood, not to follow her but to move into the shadows. I was undone. I'd been better off dead. Then I could not have hurt her yet again.  
She deserved her freedom from me. I only brought pain and horror. I'd go away. I'd return to my grave for her sake.  
This was another mistake to add to my tortures. I shook. I wasn't sure if I could be here in this condition. Not in front of my Christine.  
I started to go back to the balcony and the night from which I came.

Interrupted Evening

"Maman! Please, I'm scared! It was an awful dream! Someone strange, grabbed me, and tried to drown me!"   
Gustave knew he was too old for such antics but he couldn't help it. The nightmare had felt so real. He'd swear he could taste muddy salt water and feel the cold grip on his arms.   
He had raced into the room and buried his face in his mother's chest before even considering how his father may react to the interruption.   
"You're alright, darling, I'm here." She hugged him tightly.   
She cooed and shushed him as she gently rocked with him in her arms.   
A good mother, Erik thought watching. He'd always known she'd be a good mother.   
She looked where Erik had frozen midstep when the boy entered. "I'd like you to meet a friend of mine, Gustave."  
He would not have seen the man standing in the shadows of the room had he not moved. He was dressed all in black: pants, jacket, shirt, cape.   
Half of his face was hidden by a striking white mask. It looked like the masks in the designs all around.   
The figure twisted with a flourishing bow, "I am Mr. Y. Welcome to my world young vicomte!"  
"Your world?" The dream was forgotten with the mysterious gentleman. "This is all yours?"  
"Phantasma is indeed my realm and I, I can grant any wish.” The man knelt down on one knee leaning on his elbow to be face to face with the boy. “What do you want to see? Where do you wish to go?"   
"Can you show me all the mysteries? The things they hide in the shadows of the park?" He was practically giddy at the thought. He'd know how everything worked! Maybe they'd let him take something apart, see how it fit together. He'd seen so little of the park as they had arrived.   
"Of course! You will see everything tomorrow," he stood and squeezed the boy's shoulder encouragingly. "I will show you myself."  
Christine looked between the two concerned. Erik missed it. His eyes were fastened on the child. He couldn't look away. This was Christine's son.   
"Let's go back to bed, Gustave."  
"Yes, Mother."  
The boy gave the masked man another glance before heading back to his room. He thought how the man must be a magician. Why else would he hide his face?   
Erik hadn't really bothered to pay much attention to the boy when they'd arrived. Christine had occupied his thoughts. He was glad he got to meet him. The child was really very handsome. He had her eyes, blond hair, and a lean build. He didn't really look much like Raoul with his angular features evident under the softness of childhood. Perhaps he resembled others of the de Chagny line.   
He sighed. Christine had the family she dreamed of all those years ago. He had nothing, not even her music.   
He was happy she had everything. He really was. She deserved the best. But he needed her.   
"Sing for me. It's one song, one night." He practically begged. She could leave him after and live happily with her son.   
She saw him look towards the bedroom down the hall. "One song. Of course, I will fulfill the contract."  
There was so much she needed to say and no words left in her to use.   
"Until tomorrow, my Christine." He bowed and walked out the way he'd entered.   
Still shaking, Christine went to bed.


	6. Phantasma

Phantasma

The excitement was almost more than he could handle. Costumes, rides, children and adults in painted masks like that of Mr. Y., Gustave had never seen such sights. He couldn't wait to see it all!  
"Gustave slow down!" She laughed behind him.   
"I need to find Mr. Y! He said he'd give me a tour." He reminded her.   
She caught Raoul frowning. He couldn't recall such an offer in the paperwork. She avoided meeting his eyes grateful she was out of his reach.   
"He will call for you when he is ready, Gustave. I must find the director, the conductor, my dressing room," Christine gestured. "Why don't you help me?"  
Gustave was a man with a mission. He tapped the first stagehand he saw to make inquiries.   
That will slow him down, she thought. "Excuse me, mademoiselle?"  
The graceful blond spun around, "It can't be!"  
"I'm sorry," Christine stuttered.   
"Christine!"  
The brunette blinked. "Heaven help! Meg Giry!"  
The two old friends hugged tightly.   
"How have you been? What are you doing here?" Meg looked the same after all these years.   
"Things have been wonderful! I'm the star here. And you?"  
Christine pointed at Gustave in conversation with one of the characters that had picked them up at the docks. "I'm loving being a mom."  
“So you’re here to see the sights?"  
"And sing."  
Meg's face fell. Sing? No, Christine couldn't sing for him.   
"When?" She asked.   
"Tomorrow night."  
"The closing gala? That's the leading lady's spot. That was to be for me." She looked so sad.   
"I'm sure it's a minor mistake." Christine soothed.   
"It was to be my big break." Meg murmured to herself.   
"But it's simply a small aira." Christine didn't understand her friend's reaction. 

Raoul could not believe the gaudy colors and tacky decor of this dreadfully peasant affair. He was once again reconsidering this fiasco. He never would have believed it if someone had told him she would be there. There was no mistaking the lithe lady dressed all in black.   
"Madame Giry?"  
"Le Vicomte," she gasped."Welcome."   
He took her hand to kiss. "You work here, Madame?"  
"Indeed," he followed her glance towards Christine and, to his surprise, Meg. "Why are you here, le Vicomte?"  
"To work as well."  
She frowned. "Work?"  
"The contract is rather strange. I've never heard of someone doing things like this under such a pseudonym. Who is this Mr. Y?" He scoffed.   
The look he received reminded him of the school marm when he'd done something incredibly dumb in class as a child.   
"You really don't know? It's him."  
She may as well have shot him. His mouth dropped open. He couldn't process it for a moment. Really?  
"Him? We thought he was dead. My poor Christine! She'll be appalled."  
"Unless she knew." Madame Giry pursed her lips and cocked an eyebrow at him making her suspicions clear.   
Raoul stiffened. Christine was smiling at him from across the room. Her smile faltered as he continued to stare at her. Could she have known? How long did she know? Is that why they were halfway across the world? Is that why they had been exposed to such dreadful treatment? Was he here to be humiliated? She was here to see him! Scowling, he stalked towards her.   
He grabbed her arm making her drop the music, "Who wrote this?"  
She trembled at his growl. "Darling, please," she implored, "don't squeeze so tight."  
She had not answered him. That was all the answer he needed. He yanked her closer.   
"You knew!" He hissed at her attempt to avoid the question.   
She gulped staring into his eyes. Her trembling increased. His other hand closed into a fist.   
"Monsieur le Vicomte," Meg bubbled at him as if she had not seen their exchange.   
The grin he gave her in no way dispelled the rage in his eyes as he let go of his wife and properly took her hand to kiss. Manners were important in society.   
"Mademoiselle Giry, what a pleasure to see you again."  
Christine gently rubbed where the bruise was already forming. Raoul looked around the room. Madame Giry had followed him. The ladies were babbling. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing left to say. He was betrayed.   
Raoul turned back to his wife. "I think I will leave you in the Girys' capable hands, my dear. I'm sure you won't need me in the way," He sneered, "of whatever."  
Raoul stormed out. The three women watched him leave in silence. Meg retrieved the music from the floor. Her eyes misted over as she read just a fraction of it before Christine gratefully took it.  
It took a moment but Christine found her voice. "If you could introduce me to the manager, Gustave and I," she looked around. "Gustave?"  
The boy was nowhere to be seen.   
"Gustave!"  
She ran to where she'd last seen him. "Gustave!"  
"I'll help you look!" Meg hurried after her through the throng.


	7. Mysterious Mr. Y

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the original productions of LND, there were actors dressed as moving robots. I thought it sad that went away in later arrangements.

Mysterious Mr. Y   
(Gustave)  
I'd never seen so many things like these before. Dr. Gangle, Mr. Squelch, and Ms. Fleck had come for me while Mother and Father were talking to the ladies. I should have told Maman, but Father looked angry. She told me it was always better to not interrupt him when he was mad. I did once. She paid the price that evening. I found her still weeping after he'd slammed the door on his way out. I never wanted to be the cause of that again. One day I'd be able to properly protect her. I dreamed of that day.   
We passed moving tables, human performers, things I didn't have the words to describe. We wound through crowds and past rides to a garish yet beautiful skull motif mansion with a terribly high tower in the rear center. We entered along the garden path to the back door that led directly to a spiral staircase wrapping around a mechanical lift. It was encased in stained glass so we could watch the colors change as we left the realm of reality. Up, up, up we went, catching glimpses of the park through the trees until we were above it all. Our destination awaited us at the very top.   
"Is this where Mr. Y lives?" I asked in breathless wonder as we reached the room filled with things my brain was having trouble comprehending. There was too much to see.  
"No, it is where I work." The soft, melodic voice came from the shadows.   
I smiled at him. He was a beautiful imposing figure that pulled the shadows after him. He was like a character in a book.   
He stepped over to the trio. "Give me a moment longer, young vicomte, and I will show you my world."  
He had a piano. My fingers itched to play. Maybe if I could get some of those notes out of my head, my eyes could make sense of what I was seeing. Sometimes there was just too much going on in my brain. Mother always suggested music to help me sort it.   
"May I?"  
He graciously gave me a wave of consent as he said, "Does the young vicomte play? Have you taken lessons?"  
"Not really," I answered, thankful, as the notes escaped down my fingers across the ivory.   
They soared away. My eyes closed in ecstasy. Oh, the relief I felt! I could feel my thoughts organizing even as wave after wave of music fled my being. 

(Erik)   
The notes! The keys rang out! My eyes closed in wonder. The release of the music! My mind stilled. My heart soared. My thoughts calmed.  
I startled as if from sleep.   
Wait. I wasn't the one playing.   
I froze. How? How could he be playing that song? The song I heard in my dreams.   
"What is that?" I gasped shoving the papers I held into Gangle's hand.   
"Just a song in my head."  
I could only stare at him. In his head? Not possible.   
When he continued speaking, the words came in beat with the music.   
"Hear how each note seems to go. Floating and lovely and bold."  
My heart stopped.   
How old was this child? 10?   
Could it be?   
No. He was too beautiful.   
The song ended.   
"It's only half done." He sounded apologetic.   
"Play it again."  
The boy complied. As he played, I asked questions. Why those notes? What did he see when he played?   
What did this mean?   
It could not be. I had to stop thinking like that.   
I would show him the projects in the making. I needed the music to stop before I fell prey to my fantasy. The tour would distract my thoughts.   
"You wish to see more?" I got him away from the piano.   
Gustave's eyes widened in anticipation. He had my Christine's eyes, blue like the morning sky after the rain.   
I watched as the automaton, a humanoid pushing a cart, walked past him. One quick gesture and the cover was gone exposing the gears working in its back. His jaw dropped.   
"You wanted to see the things hidden, how they work, correct?"  
"Yes, please."  
I waved my hand. Another figurine copied me. I had him try.   
He was fascinated as the automatons reacted to him. He seemed drawn to the monkey. The monkey moved as his mimic, smiling and frowning. I opened the face plate so he could see the pulleys and levers working as muscles for the eyebrows and lips.  
"The place where dreams begin." The boy whispered.   
He spoke in awe to another mechanical being. It's three arms followed his directions precisely playing the organ. He opened this panel to watch the mechanism work.   
I gasped in surprise that he spotted the clasp. I had it well hidden in the design as usual and he hadn't hesitated. He hadn’t needed to search for it. My own people frequently had to seek assistance to find the hidden compartments.   
I marveled at him. I couldn't take my gaze off him.   
"Is the music only in your head or has it filled your very being?" I didn't mean to murmur my question out loud.   
"It has." He looked at me in such a way.   
He knew what I meant!  
It must be true. It had to be true. It's why the boy looked familiar when I knew it wasn't because of Raoul. I'd seen the photos of my father, Charles. This boy could have been him in his younger years. This boy was a reflection of what I could have looked like had my face not betrayed me.   
This boy couldn't be. Never could that happen.   
"Would he truly see the beauty underneath?" I mused to myself. He felt as I did. He heard what I did.   
He looked at me. His eyes were wide with wonder and fascination. He was excited. He was happy. He was waiting for the next thing.   
Could he be mine?   
Would he accept me?   
My own flesh and blood?   
I have no idea what insanity took me but in one swift motion, I removed my disguise.   
His scream rattled my very core.   
I fell to my knees, utterly destroyed.   
"Gustave!" Christine swept into the room enveloping her boy in her arms.   
I couldn't look at her. I felt her see me. I needed to stand. I couldn't just stay there, defeated. Not on my knees. Not in front of her. I forced myself up using the desk beside me.   
I heard her send the boy away with Meg. I heard the steps of the trio retreating. We were alone.   
Suddenly I was so mad. That murderous white rage filled my being in ways that I had not experienced in years. It was irrational. I couldn't face her with my fingers itching to squeeze.   
With my back to her, I demanded, "Confession time, Christine? Something I need to know?"  
"I came to you and," I felt her come up behind me, "You. Left. Me."   
She paused between each word. No anger, just sadness.   
I faced her. She was so close I could feel her breath. The rage vanished as if it never existed. My Christine stood there with her glistening blue eyes.   
She touched my tragic face. "But you gave me a son."   
She gave me the slightest of smiles, almost as if she was saying thank you.   
No… my knees buckled. I was grateful once again for the desk beside me. I couldn't breathe. My hand flew to my throat. I was dying.   
No! Every cell in my body felt electrified. I was alive for the first time. Alive!  
"A son?" I took her in my arms. Jubilation! I'd never felt that way before.   
"My son!" I spun her around.  
I felt her melt into me as her arms wrapped around my neck. Her smell, her warmth, my Christine! She'd given me a son! I buried my face in her hair.   
Oh, what had I done?   
My jubilation disappeared, replaced by guilt and grief. I sobbed.   
"Forgive me, please, forgive me."   
I did not deserve it. I'd left her alone.   
I'd left my child behind.   
I had abandoned my family.  
"Oh Erik," she stroked my back. "I forgave you long ago."  
Oh, what could I do now? There was no way to rectify this.   
"Just take him and go. I will not hold you to the contract. I want you both free." I whispered, my arms dropping to my sides.   
I didn't deserve a child, not after all I'd done. I tried to move away but she wouldn't let go.   
"I don't deserve him. He's terrified of me. Promise me he'll never know."  
I felt her shudder. Instantly I closed my arms protectively around her again. She took too long to answer. I think she considered saying one thing but chose another.   
"I promise, if that is what you truly wish, I promise." She whispered.   
A horrible thought struck me. What I'd heard at the hotel. I gently took hold of her arms to push her away from me. I saw the beginnings of a bruise just above her wrist. I carefully cupped my fingers around it even as I rode the flood of anger. I would focus on her, not my urge to tear his limbs from his body.   
"You don't have to go back with de Chagny. I can provide anything you need or want anywhere in the world." I caressed her cheek, searching those eyes I'd dreamed about so often. "You don't have to stay with the vicomte."  
She stared at me wide eyed. I wished I could know what she was thinking. She finally blinked.  
"I will sing for you again. Your music needs to live again." She pulled away from me and I released her. "We deserve our music. We'll have our music once more." She was nodding to herself.   
Then she vanished from me leaving me alone in my tower office.   
I had a son. All that I would ever create, all I'd ever have, would all be his. I had a reason to live. I had a reason to create. Out of all my darkness, there was light! There was my son!  
What I wish I'd known was that Madame Giry had heard every word. 

(Christine)  
I heard Gustave's scream as I stepped off the lift. Erik was on his knees, shoulders hunched, unable to look at the boy. Why had he unmasked?   
Then his demand!   
I wanted to comfort my son but the man struggling to rise appeared so broken. I had to help him first. My son could go with Meg. They left. Everyone left us.   
I went to him. How could I comfort him?   
He knew! How had he recognized his child? What had happened to reveal my desperate secret? How could he know? How would he react? My confession would only be confirmation.   
He was overjoyed! I'd never seen such pure unadulterated glee. My heart swelled. I floated in his arms. I had wanted to shout it from the rooftops when I learned I was pregnant. I'd known without a doubt whose child I carried. I had sometimes, when it hurt to move, found great solace in the fact that he was not Raoul's son.   
I'd wanted to tell Erik in the hotel room. I don't know why I couldn't. He seemed so crushed when he saw who he must have thought was Raoul's son.   
I realized I was afraid he would take him. Steal my only joy away. I was so wrong. This man was different from the one I'd known long ago in the opera. This was not the man who craved human interaction only to flinch away in terror when it was offered. He'd changed over the years of our tutoring. He'd obviously continued to change during his years in America.   
Suddenly he was back in his sorrow. It must be the guilt. He left me. But he didn't know. There was no way he could have known. I didn't know until after I believed him dead.   
He released him, us. He wanted us to just leave? He was sending us away? Just like the opera house when he sent me away. My heart shattered. I was trying to understand. He was thinking about our freedom. Freedom? From him? It had to be because of our son's reaction to his face.   
A million years ago, he'd threatened I could never be free after seeing his face. I had realized it had been because he thought I'd come back with a mob to kill the monster. When I gave him back his mask, he'd decided to trust me.   
It was childish curiosity that made me take it then. It was outright betrayal when I snatched it off on stage later.  
What did he mean? I could never tell Gustave? It seemed wrong. I'd always planned to tell him when he was older. I'd imagined the conversation hundreds of times. I wanted him to know he was the son of my Angel of Music. I sighed. If Erik wanted my silence, I'd give my silence. Gustave was his son, not only mine. Maybe I could find a way to at least let him know he was not Raoul's son.   
Then he said it. My heart skipped a beat. An option I'd never considered. I didn't have to stay with Raoul. We could leave him. No more mornings after nights of drinking. No more broken promises or broken bones. Erik wasn't asking me to stay with him but giving me the option of not staying with Raoul. What did he know? Had he seen the bruises I was hiding?   
He'd gently taken my arm. I saw the one he noticed. My sleeve must have slid up when we embraced. I put it back down self consciously.  
It was to be my choice: Raoul, Erik, or on my own.   
I knew what I really wanted. Did I have the courage to do it?   
He was my Angel once again. Offering guidance, protection. I would sing for him. I owed him that much if for no other reason than the beautiful thought of maybe, just maybe, a chance to be happy. I had to sing for him. I had to sing his music for me. I wanted to be whole.   
I loved him.   
Would he save me this time?


	8. Devil Take The Hindmost & What Will She Choose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated 8-10-20  
> This is another double chapter because I missed posting one. Apologies!

Devil Take The Hindmost  
(Raoul)  
I was determined to drown it all in that lovely liquid whiskey. I'd drown him and her and them. No more phantom. No more betrayal. No more ghosts of the past.  
The bar at the end of the boardwalk seemed the quietest, the most welcoming to those wanting to be left alone. I had no idea how long I'd been there. Another bar had closed, sending me out to find this one.  
The drinks weren't chasing it away. How many bottles had failed me this evening? His half face half mask teased in front of my eyes.  
The monster was supposed to be dead. I'd had to deal with her crying over him. I'd had to hold her while she wept over that stupid news article about the mask found at the Seine.  
I shuddered at what that implied. Why would she cry over her kidnapper? Why did she cry for that murderer?  
To learn that it was alive, what did that mean? Is that why she insisted on coming?  
How long had my wife known? Gustave had made plans with him, for pity's sake!  
I snorted. He must have been in our hotel suite. I even knew when. He'd waited for me to leave and enjoyed some quiet time with my family. He had enjoyed some time with my wife. I downed another drink. Right under my nose.  
"Another." I pounded my fist on the bar.  
"Jeez, mister, don't cha think ya had enough? It's practically morning."  
I shot a disgusted look at the bartender. "Another drink."  
Who was he to judge me?  
The guy sighed. "Fine, brother. Let's settle up. See that's my replacement." He gestured as a man in similar garb entered the building. "Maybe he'll know what to do with you."  
"Humph, what to do with me? That's always been the question." I tossed the coins on the bar. I just wanted to be alone and drink.  
The bartenders exchanged a look. He shook his head at the new guy and left for home.  
I stared at the whiskey in my hands.  
Him. Always him.  
She loved me. She chose me under that blasted opera. She left with me. She married me.  
He was the infection poisoning our love!  
We should have been perfect. Thanks to him, she pined for the stage, for her music. Thanks to him, she refused to behave like a vicomtesse ought.  
What to do with me? I wasn't the extra in this drama, he was.  
The door popped open.  
"Morning, Bernie! Coffee please." The towel scrubbing her hair hid her face but I knew her voice. "I'll just take it black."  
"Mademoiselle Giry."  
"Oh! Le Vicomte!" She gave me a pitying smile. "Come to drown your sorrows?"  
I didn't need her pity.  
"No, I'm drinking to old friends thought dead and buried." I snipped back. "And you?"  
"I come here every dawn to swim." Her focus drifted away. "To wash the day and dirt away. You," she hesitated, "you shouldn't be here. This is not the kind of place for people like you and Christine."  
She suddenly looked much older as she gripped the cup. What kind of place was this? What had it done to her? I tried to focus my vision better.  
"Mademoiselle?"  
"Have you thought about what will happen? When she sings?" A desperation entered her tone.  
"I've no idea. Her music has always been a mystery to me." Music was such a small, trivial thing. I could not see why anyone would think...  
"You must realize this is more than just a song!" The force of her words drove her off her stool. "You must take her away. You must stay away!"  
I didn't know what to do with the slim woman now gripping my shoulders.  
"She can't sing! Once he's in her soul, there is nothing, nothing!, she won't do for him."  
With a sob, she spun and ran from me and the bar.  
What did she mean? What was she talking about? Had he threatened something? She didn't make any sense. None of this added up.  
"I'm not afraid of him!" I shouted, tripping after her. "I've bested him before."  
I couldn't let her and her craziness have the last word.  
Besides I had. I'd won last time. I'd always win against that, that thing. I was the Vicomte de Chagny!  
I staggered back towards my stool and my empty glass. I'd prove I wasn't afraid of that freak.  
"Another dri…" the words died on my lips.  
Bernie the bartender was no longer standing there but I was not alone.  
The Phantom had replaced him.  
There was a sly grin showing on his unmasked side.  
"You! I'll kill you!" I stumbled back a step silently adding that I didn't care if I had to take out all three of him.  
"Really?" The masked man of my nightmares laughed as he walked from behind the counter. "Careful there."  
I swore at the stool in my way.  
"I thought I heard you weren't afraid of me." He smoothed his vest.  
"I've beaten you before!" The slurred words did not sound as convincing as I'd wished.  
"Indeed." I heard the condescension. "That was a long time ago, dear vicomte."  
Step by step, he stalked me, fixing his cuff links, nonchalant in every move. Step by step, I retreated, wiping the sweat from my palms, trying not to whimper.  
"Things have changed since then, don't you think?"  
I almost thanked him for no longer walking towards me. He gave me a disdainful up and down glance.  
"You're stinking drunk and drowning in debt."  
He may have only stood 6 inches taller in reality but it felt as though he towered over me like a giant, smirking down at me. That grin on his half lips was possibly more terrifying than anything I'd ever seen.  
"Perhaps we should make a bet. Devil take the hindmost?"  
A game of chance? Against him? No problem.  
"You haven't changed, demon. She rejected that handsome face before." I sneered trying to sound more in control.  
I straightened as best I could, "Call the stakes."  
"Our Christine will choose tonight to sing or not to sing, me or you." He held out one hand then the other as if holding the two options. "If she sings, You leave," His eyes narrowed. "Alone."  
"Fine! And if she doesn't, if I win?"  
He made a sweeping motion. "All your debts wiped away and I never enter your lives again."  
A perfect deal in my estimation. There was no way I'd lose.  
"Deal me in," I extended my hand and we shook. "Devil take the hindmost."  
The demon started to leave but I chuckled, causing him to stop.  
This was going to be so easy.  
"You've lost, monster. We have a son. Your music is nothing compared to that."  
A touch of fear skittered across my back when he turned to look at me with his fists clenching at his sides. I'd never take him in a fight. Especially since I wouldn't know which of the three of him to aim for.  
"Are you sure?" He sneered. "A child such as that? So talented? So… musical?"  
How dare he imply…  
I stopped the thought mid sentence.  
Why would he question…  
Surely not!  
"No. No woman could…" Nausea lurched within me.  
I knew she spent time with him but the reality that they may have…  
How could anyone?  
The thoughts and feelings hit me wave after wave. Could it be true? My son was not my son? He was his son? That would mean she'd been unfaithful. Unfaithful with that… that thing! I grabbed my stomach as it rolled.  
"Devil take the hindmost." He smiled at me and strolled out the door.  
My legs left me and I sank to the floor as the other man's footsteps receded. That would explain far too much.  
It must be true.  
"I'll lose them both…" the thought strangled me as I leapt to my feet.  
I couldn't lose. Not to him!  
"The concert is only hours away."  
Le Vicomte de Chagny raced out of the bar.

What Will She Choose  
(Christine)  
I had butterflies in my stomach for the first time in years. I knew why. It was because it was Erik's music and he would be watching. It was like the Opera Populaire. As wrong as it should feel, it felt amazing knowing I'd be singing for him and him alone one last time.  
Gustave hummed happily as he watched my final preparations. It was a new tune. It sounded so joyful. We'd had a wonderful day alone preparing for the concert. I had to shove thoughts of where Raoul was out of mind again. I'd concern myself with searching bars tomorrow if he still hadn't found his way back to the hotel.  
I pulled the fingerless gloves on to cover the purple brown handprint.  
"Hand me the sapphire earrings, darling?"  
"Mother, you look like a queen in a book," he gushed.  
He made me feel twice as beautiful. "Thank you. How about tomorrow you and I do something special? Just us."  
Raoul could stay lost an extra day or he could sleep it off in quiet solitude. We'd go to the beach and swim.  
Gustave's smile in response made me feel wonderful. The door opening surprised me. Stagehands would politely knock. I gasped. I really didn't expect Raoul to come. He looked sober. His eyes were clear and his stance steady.  
"Doesn't Mother look lovely?"  
"Indeed she does. Just as lovely as the first time I came to her dressing room."  
I blushed. "Raoul, you look just like that handsome boy in the opera box." I winked at Gustave. "The one who would always toss me a single red rose."  
It was truly like that night so long ago, me singing for Erik and Raoul adoring me. I must be dreaming.  
"Gustave, could you wait outside a moment, please?" Raoul asked.  
"May I go exploring?"  
"Stay backstage. You may watch from the wings. Then we'll meet here when I'm done."  
He scampered out the door.  
Raoul knelt in front of me. "Things have gone very wrong for us."  
"Oh Raoul…" he raised a finger to stop me.  
"I'm not proud of the way I've acted. I've made demands. I've ignored your wishes." He choked. He shot a quick glance over his shoulder at where Gustave had been. "I'm... aware... of the price I've paid."  
My heart leapt to my throat. He knew! I wanted to say something, anything. How angry was he?  
He held up his hand to stop me. I flinched. Surprised that no pain began.  
"I'll stop drinking. We'll ignore Philippe and I'l give up the title. You can sing anywhere you please."  
"Raoul?" He'd give up his title? He would allow my music?  
"There is one condition, one thing I wish of you, if you love me as I love you."  
I had no words to use.  
"Don't sing the song."  
"But I…" Surely he was kidding!  
"You must know there is something wrong here. Don't sing the song."  
"But the contract…" It was a contract. Besides, how could I not sing Erik's song?  
"I have booked passage for us tonight. We can pack and go. Both of us and Gustave. We can leave this place and that game playing demon behind."  
"I need to..." The oxygen in the room was simply gone. To not sing our song was unimaginable.  
"We can start again. Fresh. We'll be those children by the sea." He caressed my cheek.  
"Let me get…"  
"You needed so much from me and I failed you. I can be the man you fell in love with, I swear. Just give me the chance to repair this." He kissed my hands.  
I stared where the bruise was located above my wrist under the silken fabric. Was he aware it existed? Had he forgotten our last conversion?  
"Let's take the boy and leave all this behind. We can go, on our own, no titles, no domineering brother, no phantom."  
I forced my tongue to move. "I need time to think. Please."  
Anger crossed his visage before he took control. I could almost hear the thoughts in his head. He could drag me out, forbid me. Instead Raoul gently brushed my lips with his own. He stood and walked out.  
I closed my eyes. Of course I would leave. Was there really any other choice? He expected me to follow him. My mind flew through my memories. He could be kind, gentle, loving. It could be different. It could be like it was once, long ago at the sea.  
I was married. I had a child to consider. What awaited me if I did sing? What if I didn't?  
Then I felt him enter the room. I looked in the mirror.  
"You were made for music. It's in every cell of you. You deserve so much more than he can give." Erik's voice, Erik's presence behind me overwhelmed me. "You need to be who you truly are. You know you are complete with me. You know I will love you as you need to be loved. I will give you freedom. I will give you safety."  
He caressed my shoulders then carefully latched a necklace of sapphires and diamonds around my neck.  
"In mere moments, our music will live again. Our souls will once more be whole." His eyes closed in ecstasy at the thought.  
I remained silent.  
He locked eyes with mine in the mirror. "I will not fail you. But, Christine, it is your choice and I will respect your wishes."  
I closed my eyes and he disappeared. Twisted, what was I to do? I knew this was more than just a song but how much more? Would my choice be accepted or would it be ammunition for future arguments?  
They said I was making the choice this time, wasn't I? They had made my decisions before. Below the opera house. Which offers I accepted. That moonless night. How I acted at parties. Finally it was my choice. I was choosing Raoul or Erik. Erik had made it clear that he would take care of me regardless if I stayed with him. Erik made it clear that I just did not have to go with Raoul.  
It was simple. I could choose Raoul and give him another chance to change. Or Erik offered freedom however I wanted it, on my terms.  
Simple but so immensely complicated.  
What would happen to Gustave? To me? Could I not sing? Could I follow my heart?


	9. Love Never Dies

Love Never Dies

Christine took her place on the stage. The gown drifted around her in waves of emerald and sapphire.  
The men awaiting her decision stood just off stage, Erik stage left and Raoul stage right. She could feel their eyes on her but she dared not look at either man. She stared ahead at the audience, shadows behind the lights.  
The music began.  
The first cue slipped past as she stood there. The conductor didn't miss a beat. He circled his orchestra back to the beginning to give a second chance.  
She felt the music. She felt her grief.  
The diva missed cue again. The conductor held, looking to her. The notes faded away. Silence.  
Erik's heart broke. She wasn't going to sing. He'd lost her. At least he'd seen her one last time. At least he'd met his son. It would have to be enough. He turned to leave.  
Then she began singing and the conductor followed her.  
"Who knows when love begins  
Who knows what makes it start  
One day it's simply there  
Alive inside your heart."  
The words came hesitantly, growing more confident with each syllable.  
Christine looked at Erik.  
"It slips into your thoughts  
It infiltrates your soul  
It takes you by surprise  
Then seizes full control  
Try to deny it  
And try to protest  
But love won't let you go  
Once you've been possessed."  
She watched as he realized she was singing his love song just to him. She sang for him! She was choosing him! His knees weakened. He grabbed the scaffold to steady himself.  
"Love never dies  
Love never falters  
Once it has spoken  
Love is yours  
Love never fades  
Love never alters."  
As she approached the words of heartbreak, Christine looked to Raoul.  
"Hearts may get broken  
Love endures  
Hearts may get broken  
Love endures."  
She sang so beautifully that even as he adored it, his heart was indeed breaking. He had lost her. He didn't know when but he knew it had probably happened long before that moment. He'd pushed one time too many. He could drag her from the stage but it wouldn't matter. It was over. Even if he drug her all the way home, it would not erase the choice she'd just made. The monster instead of the man.  
"And soon as you submit  
Surrender flesh and bone  
That love takes on a life  
Much bigger than your own."  
Her thoughts turned to her angel and the child he'd given her. The song knew before the composer did.  
"It uses you at whim  
And drives you to despair  
And forces you to feel  
More joy than you can bear  
Love gives you pleasure  
And love brings you pain  
And yet when both are gone  
Love will still remain."  
She looked back to the other side of the stage as she wound her way through. Raoul could not listen any longer. He met Christine's eyes with a sad smile and a nod goodbye. He walked away into the shadows.  
"Once it has spoken  
Love is yours  
Love never dies  
Love never alters  
Hearts may get broken  
Love endures  
Hearts may get broken."  
The verses soared to the rafters. The audience floated on the sound.  
"Love never dies  
Love will continue  
Love keeps on beating  
When you're gone  
Love never dies  
Once it is in you  
Life may be fleeting  
Love lives on  
Life may be fleeting  
Love lives on."  
Christine's voice spiraled higher and higher and stopped with the music.  
There was a collective sigh then an explosion of adoration.  
The absolute high of singing, no not just singing but giving voice to one of his creations, filled every cell of her being. The prima doña bowed. And again. And again. The curtain closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love Never Dies  
> Song by Andrew Lloyd Webber and Simon Lee


	10. The Dressing Room & Boy Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated 8-10-20

The Dressing Room  
(Christine)   
The mysterious Mr. Y rushed into my dressing room mere steps behind me.   
"What a triumph you gave me tonight," he was breathless, astounded, "My Christine!"  
"It was so beautiful…" I spun to face him. "And I felt beautiful in your music once more."  
He closed the distance between us and swept me into his arms. It had been ten long years since we'd last kissed. There was no hesitation, only passion and longing. Once again to feel the music in his pulse. My head was spinning.   
We broke from one another. My hand rested on his chest to hold him back for a moment so I could catch my breath. I could feel his heart pounding. My heart was racing. I blushed and turned away.   
The single rose sat on my dressing table, a note folded over it. I picked it up and looked at my Phantom who tilted his head, absentmindedly smoothing his wig and confirming the mask that hid half his face had not moved. Not from him.  
"Dearest Wife," it began.   
"Raoul." I whispered.   
Erik stepped closer. His height allowed him to comfortably read it from behind me. I wondered if it crossed his mind that it might be personal. Erik had always had issues with personal boundaries.   
It was a goodbye. A pained sigh escaped my lips causing him to pull me close. In gratitude, I tipped the letter to ensure he could read it. My suspicions were right. They had left the choice to me. He had accepted my choice and left. I couldn't believe it. Raoul was gone. I leaned back into his chest. One arm went around my waist.   
"Poor Gustave, I," I yanked free. "Gustave! Where is he? He was supposed to be here."  
The masked man could only gesture helplessly.   
"He wouldn't dare!" My mind reeled at the thought Raoul would take my son. I couldn't, I wouldn't give up my son. "Please," I grabbed Erik's lapels, "I need Gustave more than I need music." I prayed.

Boy Lost

At that Erik reacted. His Christine believed that Raoul had stolen the boy, had stolen their child.  
Erik stormed out of the dressing room, "Where is the vicomte? He's kidnapped the boy!"  
Mr. Squelch, the giant of a strongman, cowered at the rage in Mr. Y's voice.  
"I saw him leave, sir. He was alone, sir. I swear it."  
Christine sobbed. Erik felt as though he'd been sucker punched  
"Was there anyone else backstage, sir?"  
He thought. What had that woman said? She'd claimed betrayal because of Christine. She had railed against him just before the performance.  
"Madame Giry!" He hissed. "Find her! Bring the boy back!"  
He held his terrified love as the eternity long seconds ticked past.  
Squelch and Gangle roughly grasped the arms of the woman in black.  
"How dare your freaks treat me…"  
"Where is he?"  
"Where is Gustave?"  
They demanded over her protests.  
"The boy?" She scoffed. "The boy is missing?" She gave a pointed sneer in Erik's direction. "Why would I take your son?"  
"Master," Ms. Fleck's small stature did not come with a small voice. "I just passed Meg's dressing room. It was wrecked. The mirror was smashed. She was nowhere to be seen."  
"Oh no… She was so distraught…" Mme. Giry gasped.  
Would Meg take their son? The former ballet mistress obviously thought she would. There was terror in her eyes.  
Erik grabbed Christine's hand, "I know where she goes! Come with me!"  
They raced through the chaos of the final night of the season crowd of Phantasma. Spinning colors, loud shouts, stumbling drunks swirled around them as they yelled Gustave's name, desperate for a glimpse of him. Out of the park, down the boardwalk they ran.  
There he was! Meg stood at the end of the pier, the boy struggling in vain against the vise grip on his arm.  
"Gustave!" Christine's cry reached the ears of the blond beauty who turned to face them.  
She tipped him off balance towards the water to stop them from coming closer.  
"No!" Came the collective scream of the three in pursuit.  
"Always wondered how to get you to look at me," Meg sneered. "Stay where you are!"  
"Please, please don't…" the man she had admired, adored was now begging her.  
"I gave everything for you! Mother told me to be indispensable and you would appreciate me. She told me to earn your love! Do you know what I've done? All for you? Do you even care that I let those… men… touch me? Have me? All to get what you needed!"  
Erik gasped. Meg, in her crazed state, could not see the shock in his eyes.  
He shot a look of pure disgust and contempt over his shoulder at Madame Giry. She withered at his gaze.  
Never. He would never have stood for such had he known. But he didn't know. He hadn't paid any attention to little Meg. Even when she would come bubbling into his office. In all the years, he hadn't been to a single performance. Not until tonight. What had he done?  
"Now the big finish!" Meg grabbed the boy to her.  
Christine's heart stopped in her chest. "Gustave…"  
Then Meg spun and shoved.  
He stumbled towards his mother instead of the sea. Erik's hand brushed his hair as he rushed past into Christine's waiting arms.  
The item now in Meg's hands made his blood run cold. "Give me the gun, Meg."


	11. After The Shot

After The Shot 

A gun! I had to protect my son. He'd been traumatized enough. Squeezing him tightly, I hurried away.   
"Give me the hurt. Give me the pain." With each comment he stepped a little closer, allowed a little more of that hypnotic lilt into his words. "Give me the gun Meg. Let me see you now…"  
I could no longer hear the words behind us as we fled but I heard the shot. Fighting my fear of what may have just happened, I continued to rush my son to the safety of the theater and my dressing room.   
I couldn't think of what may have happened. I simply had to protect my son especially now that it may only be us. Raoul was gone. Erik could be dead. What were we to do?   
The theater was mostly dark and empty except a few straggling employees who nodded as we passed. Relief flooded me as we entered the dressing room.  
Time crawled past. I changed from the costume. Gustave had to open the clasp on the necklace. I had packed my small makeup bag. Next? Stay here or back to the hotel?   
"Do you think she's alright, Mother?" Gustave asked from his perch on the stool. He'd been silent this whole time.   
"I don't know." I didn't mean to sound shaky and weak.   
Nope, that would never do.   
Pull it together girl, I thought as I looked at my lovely boy.   
"I'm sure someone will let us know soon." There. I was much happier with that. "How are you?"  
Gustave frowned. "Okay, I guess. She promised to show me more of the park. I'm sorry. I know I should have waited for you."  
"Oh sweetie!" I hugged him. "None of this is your fault. We both thought we could trust her."  
He enjoyed being in my arms. He was still my little boy although I knew manhood was filling in the edges more each day.   
"Where is Father?"  
Erik? Raoul?   
"I'm not sure, darling," I answered truthfully.   
Ms. Fleck knocked and entered. "Dr. Gangle and I are to escort you back to the hotel."  
She wasn't who I expected. Why wasn't Erik here yet? Did that mean… The world tilted slightly.   
I grabbed the edge of the vanity causing the mirror to shake.   
"All are fine." The diminutive lady softly took my other hand. "The master will meet you there later. He must make sure Meg is safe with someone who can help her."  
I stared at her a moment. Uncomprehending.   
"He promises to come to you as soon as he possibly can."  
"Of course."   
Pull it together! Fall apart after you get your son to bed.  
"Come along, Gustave."  
I didn't see that Gustave took something from the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally we are where the true break begins!   
> As a fan of Leroux's POTO, I had no idea LND existed until this year and only included it so completely in case others would have been lost if I started here.   
> I've always wanted Erik to have a happy ending. I was quite distressed when ALW decided to kill Christine. 
> 
> This story was finished and I was simply posting the chapters but some helpful critiques have me back at the typewriter. 
> 
> As this is my first foray into fanfic, I appreciate the comments.


	12. Back To The Hotel

Back To The Hotel  
(Christine)  
The short carriage ride through the cool evening air helped make me feel functional. Carriage was a generous word for the work cart but it saved us from walking. It was clearly made for transporting materials but humans still fit. I was grateful to not have to walk. Besides, I wouldn't have known there was an almost straight shot to the hotel without our escorts leading the way. The public spaces I would have been stuck in, wound and twisted giving the illusion of an immense never ending adventure. The paths for maintenance were tight, straight, and to Gustave's glee, gave views of the hidden sides of rides.  
The rocking movement had the wonderful effect of lulling my son nearly to sleep. I had to rouse him when we stopped. I missed the days of carrying him but I could barely see over his lovely blond head. He was growing so fast.  
Ms. Fleck delivered us to our penthouse suites while Dr. Gangle waited for her with their carriage.  
It had been a long night and routines are best in times of crisis. I sent Gustave to change. We laid out his clothes for tomorrow. I pulled the sheets up to his neck and sat on the bed beside him. I sang my son to sleep. I contacted the concierge to put in a time and order for breakfast to be delivered to the room. I changed. I wrapped my robe tightly around me. I tidied up whatever I could pretend was out of place.  
I looked at the bed neatly turned down and considered how huge it appeared. I stared at the space where Raoul’s trunk had been that morning. It was empty like the spot in the washroom for his toiletries. The flutter in my chest bounced between grief and relief.  
One thing was certain, sleep wasn't going to come easily despite the exhaustion.  
I pulled on my little slippers and meandered out of my bedroom. The hotel room was dark save a single lamp that was actually located on Gustave's side of the open connecting doors. The frosted balcony doors allowed the glimmering lights of the island to filter through and dance on the polished black surface of the piano. I touched the lights making them vanish and reappear. The other furniture was reduced to shapely shadows.  
I had made my choice and sang. I knew I'd have to live with that. So would Gustave.  
Raoul knew who Gustave’s father was. Regardless, I simply couldn't fathom him not saying goodbye to him. He had been his father for ten years! I felt awful for my little boy. All I could think was how rejected this would make him feel.  
I felt myself beginning to crumble. Raoul, Gustave, Meg, the high of singing, the depths of fear, the last few hours raged through my mind at dizzying speed. All the what ifs played out, the next more devastating than the previous. I began to shiver. I gripped the edge of the piano.  
“Christine.” I heard joy as he breathed my name.  
"Meg?"  
I yanked on my mask. Did that man ever use a proper door? He ceased his approach at my tone.  
"She's with a doctor. She'll have the best care available." He assured.  
"Madame Giry?" I did not turn to him. I was calm and in control, no more shivers.  
"Has been given a generous severance package." He bit the phrase. He would not forgive easily for her actions towards Meg.  
I knew his forgiving himself would perhaps always be out of reach.  
"Raoul?" I was proud my voice didn't betray me.  
Silence.  
“What did you do?”  
I wasn't angry. I wasn't sad. I just had to know how it had all suddenly become my choice. How had I suddenly become mistress of my fate? Raoul did not give up that readily. I needed to know why he hadn't pulled me off stage.  
I finally turned to him. I could tell he wasn’t prepared for this. I wondered what he thought tonight would be like.  
“Raoul left of his own accord.”  
That told me there was something. Had Erik threatened him? He had plenty of men who worked for him. Was Raoul… escorted… away because I sang?  
“What did you do, Erik?” I repeated the question as I sank onto the piano bench. I told myself it was a choice. In actuality, I could not stand and keep my facade. I was not going to fall apart. I was just going to sit.  
I watched his shoulders fall and his head drop. I could barely hear his voice from across the room.  
“I made a bet. At daybreak, I found him in the bar, drunk, bragging to Meg that he wasn’t afraid of me.”  
I ran my hand through my hair. One hundred strokes with my silver brush while I studied it for grey hairs. Long ago, Raoul would watch me as we chatted about our day. I grimaced at the memory of the night when… no, I had to focus. My nightmares could wait until I slept.  
"The stakes?"  
He took a deep breath and met my eyes. “Simple. If you didn’t sing, you all left together, debts paid plus more." He held out his hands, palms up. "If you sang, he would leave without you or your son, alone."  
That's not how the law worked. He was French nobility and any children from such a union as ours would belong to the nobleman.  
“You told him, didn't you? ”  
It was my secret. I really couldn't decide if I was angry or relieved or just sad. Mostly, I felt concern. Would that make him less or more likely to demand his paternal rights?  
He wouldn't meet my eyes.  
“Now what? Did you think any further than the song, Erik?"  
His hands dropped to his side to drum his fingers in a symphony on his thighs.  
"Or was it just about winning? Just taking away all Raoul had?”  
Perhaps costing me all I had. Had I just been a pawn in a game? Did he care? Oh, what had I done? I could feel everything in me clenching, strangling.  
Two strides was all it took to take him to my side and down on one knee so he could look me straight in the eyes. “I thought about ten long years without you. I thought about how miserable you looked disembarking. I thought about how you were to have been happy without me." He gestured with his hands. "You were supposed to get the fantasy if I stayed away. I thought about the argument I overheard you and he have right here. I thought about the song you sang to our son that night. Was it not about us? Unrecognized love?" He was pleading with me to understand. "I thought about our son. I thought about how many mistakes I've made and everything I missed. I thought about the fact there is no way to make it right. I thought about the life we should have had. I thought about how if you weren't happy with him," His voice caught in his throat, "And if you didn't want me, you deserved to be free of us both. I thought about the pain I caused. Pain I caused you. I thought about you. I thought about…” he sighed, “How very much I love you.”  
Those gorgeous eyes misted over. There was a time when he would not dare touch me. Our first real touch was when I had kissed him under the opera house and he'd sent me away. All those lessons in the intervening years occurred without even a handshake. Then there was that one night when all I knew was his touch before he vanished. Now he was here, arms limp at his sides with his head on my lap as his tears dampened the cloth on my knees.  
My husband had "lost" me in a bet. All I meant to a man I'd spent the better part of two decades with was the total sum of his debts. My husband thought of me as a possession, a thing to be placed on the betting table.  
The kneeling man had gambled that the vicomte honestly looked at me as a possession… a gamble he had won. Now he was begging to be understood or forgiven for revealing the truth.  
I thought of that contest for my affection long ago. Had Raoul considered me as just a prize then? Had his motivation been to save me or beat a monster? In the end it hadn't mattered what motivated my knight in soaking clothing. The monster had demanded I leave seconds after I realized I didn't want to go.  
I began to shake. He sat up again, concerned.  
"Christine?"  
It was too much. My mask slipped away. Gustave was asleep, I didn't have to play the role of mother. There were no society patrons or Raoul to impress, forcing me to pretend to be a happy wife. I was left as just me and there was no more script to follow. The masks I wore evaporated. I wasn't sure what I was feeling or why I was crying so hard but I could no longer sustain myself and collapsed thankful his arms were there to catch me.  
Ever so gently, my Erik stood, taking me in his arms as he did, to carry me to my room. A thought skittered past that I ought to protest but I had no energy left.

(Gustave)  
I rather enjoyed the cart ride back to the hotel. I wondered if I could get a tour of the mechanical buildings nestled behind the decorative structures of the park rides. The little blank buildings surely held great mysteries of wiring and gears. My imagination ran wild at what secrets they held. But even that was no match for the lateness of the hour or the rocking motion. I nearly fell asleep on the way.  
Arriving at the hotel left me thoroughly confused. Father seemed to be nowhere at all. There was a marked absence of the man. Both of the liquor cabinets were restocked with the cut glass decanters once again full and the glasses pristinely displayed. There was no jacket carelessly tossed on the back of a chair. A glimpse into my parents' room cinched it. One travel trunk was gone. Father wasn't here drinking. He hadn't been part of my rescue at the pier. He wasn't waiting in the dressing room. Would he abandon us in a strange country?  
Mother said nothing. She fussed over me as I prepared for bed. I didn't mind after what had happened with Mademoiselle Giry. Plus, when she fussed, she would sing more to me. I would never tire of hearing her voice. The problem was that she wasn't answering my questions. She had always answered my questions even if the only one she could offer was that she didn't know. She was evading them. No offers of excuses. Nothing. I was getting quite worried.  
She sang. She kissed my forehead. To end the evening, I pretended to go to sleep but I started pacing moments after she left the room. I did my best thinking either pacing or playing the piano.  
I grabbed my pants and dug out the letter I'd taken. I wouldn't alert her by turning on the light. I went to my window and used what light I could from outside. Father's handwriting was clear and precise. I read it twice.  
"My Dearest Wife,  
Little Lotte, I beg you to forgive me…"  
Father owed Mother many apologies. He'd use that term of endearment when things had gone very wrong. Anytime I heard it at home, I knew to hug Maman carefully.  
The letter was short. I personally think he could have written much more on the subject of apologies. It was the final paragraph that confused me.  
"May your Angel of Music watch over you now…"  
The Angel of Music? From the stories? I'd grown up hearing amazing stories of the Angel of Music but those were fairy tales. Maman told me those stories under our makeshift tents made with blankets. Those were our special pretend times we did not share with Father. How did he know the stories? She warned me not to mention them to him so why would she have told them to him? Why would he write that? It didn't make sense.  
I heard talking. Mother should have already prepared for bed. I thought she was exhausted. It had been so quiet I'd assumed she was already asleep. I listened. She definitely wasn't singing to herself but with Father gone, who was she speaking with? Was he back? I crept out of my bedroom to see.  
Mr. Y of Phantasma stood in the parlor just in front of the balcony doors. Maman was in her gown and robe with her back to him. They were talking just low enough so I could only catch every few words, not enough to make any use of them. I tried reading their body language but they both seemed to be fighting to stand perfectly still.  
I moved closer. My curiosity was too great. I did not wish to be spotted and sent back to bed. They looked so intense. I had to freeze before I reached the connecting door. Maman had kindly left the lamp on so I could find my way around the rooms. Unfortunately, there would be no way to avoid detection if I continued forward.  
Then he knelt in front of her. I could hear nothing now but he was clearly begging. He was so tall he still had to bend some to be eye to eye with her. To my shock, he laid his head in her lap. I think he may have been crying.  
Who was this man?  
I was about to step forward demanding answers and protecting her honor when he sat up in alarm. Did he hear me? No. Worse. I stepped forward but I'd never make it in time. The evening had finished her. Mother was going to fall from the piano stool! Mr. Y caught her in his arms. In a slow fluid motion, he stood and easily carried her from the room.  
That was too weird of an exchange. Where was he taking her? What in the world was going on? Didn't he know Father had a temper? What if he came back to find Mr. Y holding her like that?  
I determined I'd ask him a few questions. Should I follow? Surely he would come back through to leave. I debated several long seconds. The man didn't reappear.  
Soft singing floated along. I made my feet move. I walked into her suite, past the piano, down the hall to her open bedroom door. I found Mr. Y in a chair beside Maman's bed holding her hand brushing her hair off her face. He was singing the song that I'd heard just an hour before when she had kissed me goodnight. It was the song Mother always sang to me.  
My mother was asleep. Her breathing was becoming deep and steady. Her long dark lashes rested on her cheeks. I met his golden eyes over her peaceful form. I frowned. He kept singing and staring back at me.  
The letter in my hand was a goodbye, very final sounding. Father wouldn't come back tonight, at least, right? If he did, it could be rather awful. Mother had definitely done something he had not approved. I would not be able to stop him and she did not seem very able either. He had written Angel of Music. Maybe the stories of the mysterious protector and teacher were true and he now sat in front of me. Protector? The man before me did not seem easily intimidated. Whether that assessment was based on his mask or what I'd seen beneath it, I could not say. He exuded power, confidence, as if he could handle anything he may face. Whatever had driven him to his knees earlier was pushed away. Perhaps he could protect her if Father showed up. Should I leave things as they were?  
The song ended. He made no move to rise. Maybe he did know about the temper and that was why he was here.  
I yawned. I saw a slight smile on what I could see of his lips.  
"It's okay Gustave. I'll watch over her."  
I heard his voice practically in my ear but hadn't seen his mouth move. A trick of the near nonexistent light? More likely proof of how tired I was. If Maman trusted him, I decided I could, for now.  
I nodded slightly. Mr. Y acknowledged it with his own nod. It was time for me to go back to bed. Mother had told me we may have a long day.


	13. The Day After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as an apology, I write and post from my phone. I was informed that it could cause issues with how the posts look on a proper computer. If I have the opportunity at work, I will check and try to fix any problems.   
> Thank you!

The Day After  
(Christine)  
Erik was still there when I woke the next morning. He stood at the window looking out at the park, hands clasped behind his back. I wondered if he'd slept. Not likely. I knew I'd woken several times from nightmares. Each time, I heard gentle singing at my side. I felt nearly as tired as I had last night.  
He turned when I sat up. His smile faltered at my obvious distress. He didn’t seem to want to approach me as I laid on the bed. I wished I could smile. Did he forget who put me in bed? Didn't he spend the night in my room? His sense of propriety could be ridiculous.  
Honestly, a part of me had hoped I would wake from an elaborate dream. Maybe it would have been okay to be in France at home being shunned by my lady's maid. Perhaps it would have been fine to wake still believing him dead. Maybe I should be facing another day as the Vicomtesse de Chagny.  
Reality had me as a woman in a foriegn country abandoned by my husband. I had a child that could either be legally stolen from me or he could be rendered another bastard with no standing. My childhood best friend was decimated having attempted suicide. Just how many lives had my decision to sing destroyed?  
I felt very broken. Nothing in me remained in one piece. My world no longer fit. Tears hovered. I sagged back into the pillows.  
He moved towards me but there was a knock at the door. Erik hesitated before grabbing his jacket and leaving to answer it.  
I must face the day whatever it brought. The rest of the world did not stop for my follies.  
I rose and began to dress. I chose a blue silk dress with long sleeves. I still needed to cover the bruise at my wrist. I took a deep breath and stepped out of my room. I slowly crossed the suite rallying myself as I approached the connecting door.  
"Are you feeling better, Maman?" My sweet Gustave asked as I entered the room.  
A young man not dressed in the uniform of the hotel pulled out a chair for me at the table where my son ate breakfast.  
"Better."  
I knew by the way he looked at me he did not believe me. My hands were shaking slightly. I was aware of how pale I was. The door to the washroom opened and he came out holding a garment bag the blond fellow swiftly took.  
"Erik?" I tried to keep my tone neutral.  
Even with that mask I could see his worry. I desperately needed him to touch me to show me I wasn't trapped in some sort of altered reality. I had to appear fine for the sake of my son. He heard my silent plea. He took my hand and kissed it as he sat beside me.  
"My Christine, I must go to the office. There is a great deal involved with closing the park for the winter."  
"Will you come back?" My words shook.  
Blast it! Deep breath. I've made a terrible mistake! It'll be fine. My mind reeled like a tennis ball bouncing from thought to thought. How many times to protect me had Erik left me? He wasn’t offering the choice of him. He only wanted to give me the freedom to leave Raoul. I was to be all alone. That wasn't the choice I'd made! Oh God, I prayed, not again!  
Erik's long fingers caressed my cheek making my heart slow its hammering.  
"Actually, I was hoping you'd come to me."  
He was using his calming voice with me. I considered being cross but today I appreciated it. I focused on it and slowed my breathing. I could see the slight movement of his head as he took breaths with me. In, one two three; out, one two three.  
"My office is in my home." He took both of my hands in his, rubbing the backs of mine with his thumbs. "I hoped the two of you would relocate there. For as long as you wish."  
Erik was a choice. Did he understand I chose him? It was easier to gather myself. I saw my lovely boy watching our exchange. I could see questions flying across his mind. I took my hands back.  
"Finish your breakfast, Gustave. We need to pack."  
He nodded obediently.  
Erik glanced at the, I guessed he was his valet, and he immediately got on the phone.  
Erik leaned in closer, dropping to a whisper. "I have never broken a promise to you."  
He knew I needed further reassurance. I thought carefully and nodded confirming his statement.  
"I promise I will see you there, my Christine."  
He rose, nodded a goodbye to Gustave, and left.

(Gustave)  
I wondered about the phrase 'my Christine'. If Mother had not been so very fragile, I would have asked. Explanations would wait. I could be very patient when necessary and Maman was still not well. I'd pushed too hard last night. I wouldn't do that to her again.  
Minutes later a proper lady's maid arrived and was introduced to Mme. Daaé as Sarah by Mr. Squelch, the Phantasma strongman. Sarah had the coolest English accent. We'd gone to England once when I was little. The nanny that was employed to keep the children out of the way clipped so many words, I couldn't understand her in French or English. Sarah's voice sounded more like a flowing river, smooth and clear.  
Cass, who was Mr. Y's butler, stayed to assist me. He was completely American. He was extremely happy when I spoke to him in English. His 'monsieur' was so atrocious, I really didn't want to hear it again. At least the guy had a sense of humor. He knew he was butchering my language and took great pleasure in making himself sound even worse as I began to mimic his accent. Apparently he was born and raised in Queens, a borough of New York. Between fits of laughter, we managed to get my things properly stowed.  
Porters were called. We plus our entourage were escorted from the penthouse to carriages that waited below. The luggage rode with Cass and Sarah in one of those work carts.  
Mr. Squelch helped us into the proper carriage, the black one with the Phantasma Crest on the side and no horses that had retrieved us at the dock.  
"Mr. Y stated that business would keep him and I should show you the sights. Where would you like to go?" He had a rumbly deep voice.  
"May we go to the beach?"  
"Of course, Gustave," she answered. "If you would be so kind, Mr. Squelch?"  
"As you wish," he grinned.  
A few hours of searching for shells was just perfect. After my near miss the night before, I wasn't keen on the water yet. He mentioned his boys loved to swim and might be persuaded to use me as an excuse to get extra beach time if I was interested. I was. He promised one or both would get in touch with me next week to set lessons up.  
Around noon, Mr. Squelch introduced us to hotdogs. I chose my condiments based entirely on color. The relish and mustard made my eyes water. Maman laughed and said next time I should try red.  
We strolled along, ducking into tourist-y curio shops. There were snow globes, music boxes, stuffed animals, postcards, trinkets of all types emblazoned with Coney Island or Phantasma or New York.  
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Mr. Squelch seemed quite mindful of our surroundings. He remained just beyond arm's reach, scanning our surroundings, vigilant. It struck me that he was guarding us as much as guiding us. I tensed. Why did we need protecting? For a moment I had wondered if it was because of Father, but realized it probably had more to do with the events last night. I saw him convince a reporter to stay away. Mr. Squelch made me think of a big teddy bear. However, when he glowered at the fellow with the camera, I could almost believe him dangerous. I guessed Mr. Y had anticipated that we may have to deal with nosy journalists. The press here seemed quite pushy to me. I was glad we had Mr. Squelch.  
Maman signed an autograph for some tourists who had seen the previous evening's performance. They gushed over her voice. As the adults spoke I wandered over to where their daughter waited. I loved the accent of the Georgian girl. Her southern drawl made everything she said sound like a warm dessert. I noticed my mother grinning as I chatted with her about the music box she was holding.  
Color was returning to Maman's cheeks. I kept hearing her hum. That was always a good sign.  
"Feeling better, Maman?" I asked as we continued to window shop.  
"I feel wonderful, my darling."  
Wow. It was her real smile. It had been a while since I last saw that. She was feeling better.  
I didn't think I ever wanted the day to end but her pace was slowing. I knew it had been a much longer few days for her than me. As aware of her feelings as I was and as much as I strove to take care of her, I also comprehended that I did not yet have the life experience to fully grasp all she was going through. I didn't have a clue as to what had happened last night to send Father away. There had been no discussion about returning to France at all. We were taking steps to move into Mr. Y's home here at Phantasma. Things were very strange right now and that had to be hard on her.  
The night we were introduced, I saw he couldn't keep his eyes off of my mother. Last night he either stayed in our suite or came back in with breakfast. Although it was something I wasn't entirely comfortable with, I suspected it was the former not the latter. Had Father shown up, it would have been necessary that he'd remained. Then Maman seemed to absolutely need him this morning as if she was dependent on him for life itself. I'd seen her broken more times than I wanted to think about but I'd never seen her fragile. I didn't know what was causing the fragility. Was it Mr. Y? My father? Mademoiselle Meg? Me?  
I was glad the carriage was close by to take us on our way back through Phantasma's gates to the mansion. Instead of the garden path, we were taken to the front. The mansion was garish with the mask and skull theme worked into its intricate stone work. Garish yet beautiful in its own way. The wrought iron gate also boasted roses worked into the same yin-yang mask design. It opened as we approached. We rolled in on the circular drive coming to a stop at the front of the veranda. The building stood five floors high but the tower at the back center extended another five.  
The doors opened as we approached. Cass hurried down the steps of the porch while the master remained silhouetted by the electric lights pouring out of the house into the twilight. Cass offered his hand to Maman helping her from the carriage. I leapt down behind her. After all, I was a properly trained vicomte offering my arm to her. We walked up the broad stairs.  
Mr. Y reached out his hand as we got to the door. She took it.  
"Welcome to our home, my Christine."


	14. In Our Home

In Our Home

To say the place was impressive would be an extreme understatement. The foyer was practically a ballroom stretching up three stories with sweeping staircases on either side leading to a balcony. At the first balcony, the staircases swept the other way across the front of the foyer to connect a second balcony. Gustave had seen such a design in a Russian architecture book he'd found at a shop in Marseilles. It was the inside of one of the palaces of the tsar.  
If it was created like that then the floors connected by the visible walkways would be for family and guests. The fourth floor would be home to the live in servants and the fifth would be attic storage. Those staircases would be subtler, probably behind a door and accessible only by back stairs. Gustave wondered if it had secret passages or hidden rooms that even servants would not know. Around the walls were five sets of double oak doors opened to display the rooms behind. Starting on the left set the parlor then the dining room. On the right there was the music room and the library. The rear set led to the conservatory, kitchen, and the tower. The off white walls boasted art like that seen in the finest museums. The colors were vibrant demanding attention. Gustave recognized a few of the pieces from books and wondered if they were originals or copies.   
The masked man led them up the right side stairs to the first level then along the walkway. He passed the first door to open the second.   
"This is for you, Gustave."  
It opened to a large room. The walls were a bright blue with charcoal crown molding. It could have seemed cold except the amazing beach scenes hung in heavy frames gave it an aquatic vibe. The large four poster bed was against one wall with a bench at the end. A door beside the bed led to a private bath. A settee was nestled under a bank of windows. An armoire stood open showing where his clothes resided. In addition to his own things, Gustave saw a selection of French books on architecture and engineering and, upon inspection, a small box of tools on the shelves.   
"I understand that you took apart the music box when it arrived to see how it worked. Those are more accurate tools for close work than a pen knife."  
The boy smiled broadly. "Thank you, sir."  
The masked man appeared nervous but pleased at his appreciation.   
"Change for dinner, darling."  
"I'd like to see your room first, Maman."  
She acquiesced and they continued along. There were two doors left.   
Mr. Y cleared his throat with a nervous sound.   
"The farthest is mine but this is yours," he pushed the door open. "My Christine."  
The woman gasped in delight. The walls were done in such a pale shade of lavender that it almost seemed to be an optical illusion. There were dozens of hand painted roses on the walls in lieu of paintings. The curtains on the windows were a darker shade of the walls done in lace. A chaise was situated at the windows. Two armoires were filled with far more than the few items she'd brought from France.   
"It's so pretty," the boy was wowed.   
"Lavender and lace. Roses. You remembered…"   
Her fingers brushed along the pale roses painted on the wall. Without a doubt she knew he'd painted each one. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back practically rocking on his heels.   
"The stories you told beneath the opera are some of my favorite memories," he paused, "I never thought you'd see this room."  
Gustave looked at him then back at her.   
She touched the combs on the vanity. Her hands drifted over the books on the shelves. She caressed the mahogany of the small writing desk.   
Mr. Y watched her wander around the room, "I'm very glad you are here."  
She had crossed to the bed with its lilac colored silk duvet and explosion of pastel pillows. Tears welled up.   
"I'm glad too."  
Sarah arrived. "May I help Madame change for dinner?" 

(Erik)   
Nighttime's grip was far from over when I stepped through the secret door in the wall between my suite and Christine's. At the time, creating the husband and wife suites were an absolute folly of fantasy. I did it simply because it was how she had described it to me. Almost. In her description the connecting door was visible and, because of how much she'd love her husband, always open. She'd described the perfect noble family's wedding suite one day in front of the fire.   
There were no opera practices on Sundays so she had begun spending most of those with me. Christine would attend mass and join me at lunch. Sometimes we'd practice. Sometimes we'd read. Sometimes we talked. I had looked forward to those relaxed days. I had pretended we really were simply a happy couple living a normal life. I was lounging in my chair as she was curled on the rug leaning against my legs. I was in Heaven.   
"You built palaces!" She exclaimed gleefully as I told her a severely edited version of some of the work I'd done for the Shah of Persia.   
"What would your perfect home look like Christine?" I asked as I refilled her cup.   
Her gaze drifted to the flames as a soft smile curled her lips.   
"It would look like love."  
That was intriguing. A house that looked like Christine?   
"What do you mean?"  
Her voice seemed as far away as her thoughts. "It would be bright even on cloudy days. It would be full of the laughter of children. The only tears allowed would be those of joy. Music and games and dancing would fill the spaces between." She laughed, "We'd have a proper husband and wife suite but his room would end up a nursery, always filled with our newest addition."  
My heart dropped. She'd said 'we' but then referred to 'him'. She didn't see me in the role. I couldn't take more vague references so I asked for design details instead. I drew the rooms and presented them to her at our next session.   
Assuming it would never be used, I decided no one needed to be aware of the door's existence. Four suites with private washrooms per floor was opulent, unnecessary, and expensive. Mr. August had asked how many visitors I expected. When I answered none he'd stared at me several seconds before continuing his perusal of the designs. Of course most of the rooms had been filled on multiple occasions with people needing shelter. Not hers. I'd never had to open hers for anyone else.   
Now my fantasy had come true. My Christine was in my home, hopefully to stay, after all these years. I was almost too terrified to look. What if it was just a dream to vanish like before?   
No, she was there, propped on pillows with an arm around her son. Her arm was around my son. Another fabulous dream I thought would always be denied me. Tentatively, I stretched out my fingers to slide a curl off the boy's face.   
"Erik?" Her voice was heavy in sleep.   
"I am here."   
I was surprised I woke her. She used to sleep so soundly. I once threatened to steal a trumpet from the orchestra to wake her after a fourth attempt to rouse her one morning when she'd slept in my home under the opera.   
She patted the bed beside her. I sat carefully and took her hand. I didn't wish to wake my son especially since I'd left my mask in my room.   
"He didn't make it through our song. Too much excitement at the beach," she smiled.  
I thought she'd drifted off until she frowned.   
"This changes things."  
I tensed. What did she mean? What changes?   
"I know I promised you that I'd never tell him."  
She wanted to tell him I was his father? It seemed reasonable at the time to insist he not know. I was stupid to take off my mask that way. My free hand went to my face self consciously. The boy’s scream still echoed in my ears. He was far more tolerant of the fact I was in their hotel last night and this morning than I anticipated. I was shocked that he had not fought against moving into the mansion, but dinner had been awkward. Too much that needed to be said hung in the air. Relief had finally come in the form of his curiosity concerning the Peltogyne purpurea inlays that accentuated the mantles of all the fireplaces. Gustave had read about the naturally purple colored wood and recognized it. That sent us down a rabbit trail of architecture dispelling the silence although not removing the elephant.   
She opened her eyes to search mine.   
"You are a good man. Give him time. He will see the beauty underneath."   
I sighed, "Perhaps."  
She squeezed my hand. "Goodnight, my love."  
Her love? Was it sleep speaking or…?  
I kissed her forehead. "Goodnight, my Christine."  
I watched as she fell back to sleep. I couldn't bring myself to rise and leave. I watched my family sleep until dawn.  
Perhaps God would not punish my hypocrisy if I thanked Him for this miracle. I smiled wondering what the good Reverend Colton would say about that.


	15. The Tower View

The Tower View 

(Gustave) 

The enormous house was going to take days to explore. I decided the best place to start was at the top. I really wanted to see the view of the park from the tower again. I took the circular staircase that wrapped the lift. I tried the single door at each level. Some opened. The first floor was just a large conference style room with a long table. The third floor seemed to be stuffed with parts. Seventh was a workroom but didn't seem to have any projects on the tables. The other floors were locked. Those I ignored but his office at the top wasn't. I walked on in. 

I hadn't known there was a meeting in progress. 

"Pardon me! I'll come later…" I tried but Mr. Y insisted I enter and introduced me as Gustave, the son of Madame Daaé to the three men with him. My proper title was Gustave son of Raoul le Vicomte de Chagny but I didn't correct him. I kind of liked being the son of a prima doña.

I stayed out of the way on the bench gazing out. The park was mostly still with the lack of customers but there were plenty of workmen milling about. I watched as an empty roller coaster ran on its tracks. My mind started buzzing with questions of how fast, how much weight needed, if there could be another loop, if...

"Then there's this. I really just don't see how to fix this." Mr. August had been introduced as chief engineer of the park. 

A problem? My interest was piqued. I glanced around. I hadn't noticed when the two other men had left after dealing with their particular needs. 

Mr. Y seemed distracted. He kept drumming his fingers on his leg. I noticed he was staring at me. I took it as an invitation to be nosy. I stopped listening to the ideas Mr. August was contemplating and I wandered over. I took a look at the plans on the table from different angles. I appreciated that they gave me space. 

"Could you do this?" 

I'm not sure I meant to say it out loud. It struck me that if that mechanism on the other side looked a little different...

I had their undivided attention. I gulped. 

"Go on," Mr. Y directed. 

I quickly sketched on the corner of the page. Mr. August started to speak but Mr. Y stopped him. His eyes were glued on the doodle.

"Explain it." 

He knelt down so we could almost be on the same level. His crisp pants, his pristine shirt, his waist coat puddling about him. He was too dressed up to be practically sitting on the floor with me. Plus he was just so tall! Father stood at almost 6 feet. Mr. Y had 6 or 8 inches more in height. 

I stuttered a bit, not knowing the right words to describe it and a tad uncomfortable at the intense attention. I had to gesture and draw. Frankly, I hadn't read enough engineering books and I had never had the opportunity to delve into it. It was frustrating. I could practically see it in my mind. Despite my failings, within a few minutes so could Mr.Y. 

"Of course!" He exclaimed standing. "Well done, Gustave!" 

He squeezed my shoulder with a look of absolute pride in his eyes. He turned to the other man. He could put it in the correct terms. 

Mr. August, rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Wow, kid, I think you're hired. I'll take this to the boys and we'll see to it. Good day, Mr. Y. A true pleasure to meet you, Gustave."

"Can I," I stopped. 

How many lines was I going to cross today? Entering a room without knocking, interrupting a meeting, and now this request. Father always said children were to be seen, not heard. 

Both men looked at me. Mr. Y nodded.

"May I see it?"

"Your idea fixes it." Mr. August laughed. "Of course you can see it."

We all went to the elevator. 

(Gustave) 

It was dark when we hurried into the dining room. The food was being placed on the table. 

"There you are!" She opened her arms for a hug. "I thought you had decided to skip dinner as well."

"Oh, Maman, you wouldn't believe some of the stuff we did!"

I launched into a detailed description of an automaton's gears we'd repaired. Then I told her all about centrifugal force and how it applied to the roller coaster. I told her that I was right that another loop could be added and it was slated for the upgrade already. 

She attentively listened asking for frequent explanations as we ate. I knew she wasn't following the discussion but I loved her for trying. That odd melancholy look entered her eyes again. She glanced over at him several times. 

I wondered if she would explain it now that everything had changed so much. I considered asking but not today. I was too tired to listen to an explanation. 

Gustave went up to bed without debate after he nearly fell asleep in his dessert. Erik and Christine stayed in the parlor drinking their preferred strong Russian tea. She truly savored its smoky flavor. She would not drink it at the de Chagny home. In her mind it was Erik's tea. At home in France it caused her too much sadness to drink without him. 

The fire crackled pleasantly. They hadn't spoken much to one another. Not that there wasn't much to say but there would be time to get to everything eventually. It felt good to be in one another's presence. Besides, he'd enjoyed listening to her and their son. Now she seemed wrapped in her own thoughts. 

Hesitantly, Erik broke the silence asking, "What are you thinking about, Christine?"

She smiled softly at him. "Dinner conversations. I have no idea what that child was talking about." She laughed. "I think he lost me when he opened his mouth but it sounded as though you two had a good day."

"We did," he agreed.

"I don't think I've heard him talk that much at dinner in years." 

Her smile slipped from her lips as she was dragged back three years. Raoul often got annoyed at so much noise. It always depended upon how much alcohol he'd consumed. That evening the poor boy wanted to talk about the museum. He was so excited. Raoul had missed his birthday trip so he wanted to tell his father all about it. Christine had watched Raoul’s face grow redder and redder. Raoul had gone to the track. He'd lost badly. He hadn't wished to listen to Gustave's artifact by artifact descriptions. She had to rush the boy off to bed before the man exploded. 

Several more whiskey neats had convinced him that the boy was offering too much detail. He decided that would be what happened if Christine had been otherwise engaged while the boy went on the tour alone. He had entered her room yelling accusations just as she'd drifted off to sleep. Her hand went to her side as if the healed rib still hurt. She winced at the memory of yet another birthday ending badly. 

Erik was staring at her. He wasn't sure what he was watching cross her face. He only knew it was pain. 

"Christine?"

No. She blinked back the tears. She wouldn’t think about it. The past was gone. Raoul was on another continent. 

"Thank you, Erik, he truly enjoyed his day." Her smile was genuine as she returned to the present with him. 

"The boy is brilliant." He continued watching her. 

"He takes after his father."

Silence filled the space between them once again. He didn't ask the questions she knew he had.  She bade him goodnight and drifted out of the room. He stared after her in contemplation


	16. Settling In

(Gustave)

Days became weeks and Phantasma became home. The busyness of the park's closed season still kept a steady stream of colorful characters in and out of the mansion usually through the back garden entrance leading to the tower. The more flamboyant costumes may have been put away but some, like the tattooed woman, still were quite exotic looking in "normal" clothing. 

As promised, Mr. Squelch's twins had appeared at my side in the garden the week after we moved into the mansion. Samuel declared that he would have been there much sooner but their mother insisted I was to be given a little time to adjust. Nathan stated that they were told not to ask about the vicomte or the future plans but if I wished to volunteer the information they would listen. Then they drug me to the trapeze tent for an impromptu try out. They were a year older than but I was taller. With their blond hair and blue eyes Nathan decided we could be triplets anyway. They were the first of many friends. 

The Performer's Village where they lived was within the privacy walls of the park but separated from it and the public that visited. The collection of quaint cottages with small gardens had private beach access. I learned not all employees lived there but it was a haven for the more exotic people of Phantasma. 

_ "Because some of us are too weird for normal people," Samuel frowned.  _

_ "And I guess you could say Mr. Y collects us," Mila was practicing her contortionist act folded in on herself on a mat. The beach was getting colder but it was still the preferred spot to hang out. "I was four when my parents worked for that other place and he was there too. Daddy said he took a beating for Mrs. Dombrowski. Ya know, the bearded lady," she explained. "He told me all about it. The owner got mad and started hitting her and Mr. Y stepped between them. At first Dad said the guy was scared but when Mr. Y didn't fight, when he took the clubbing, the owner just kept going and going." _

_ I gaped at her, "What happened then?" _

_ "When he was done, Dad said Mr. Y stood up and looked at the owner. He took the club he had been using and snapped it in half. Dad said it was astounding. He'd just been beat on for half an hour and all he did was stand up and break the stick. Mr. Y handed it back to the owner and said, 'I'm leaving. Anyone who wishes is welcome to come with me.' Mrs. Dombrowski's family, my family, and a few others left that night. That man was afraid to stop anyone from leaving." _

_ "Wouldn't you be if someone did that?" Nathan failed at another cartwheel.  _

_ That was the first of many stories I heard in the village.  _

After the help I provided that morning I interrupted, I was always welcome in any meeting or project I joined. I had felt stupid that first time. It drove me crazy having to sputter through that explanation until he could see what I saw. So when I wasn't with the twins and the others, I dove into the library. The books he had were astounding. Mr. Y didn't just have the quintessential engineering tomes, he had them in their original languages. That wasn't all. The various blueprints I found were complicated and gorgeous. Plans for automatons, rides, inventions, I would find something new each time I studied them. 

At dinner, in meetings, anytime I wanted, Mr. Y listened to my ideas and questions about the books and the blueprints. He patiently answered the questions. He eagerly discussed the ideas. More than once I'd overhear him say to one person or another that 'Gustave thought of this' or 'Gustave changed that' with that same absolute pride in his voice from that first meeting I'd interrupted. 

I had always been a fast learner and I was devouring the stuff. I was getting good too. I could tell when Mr. August heard another idea, delivered in proper terminology, just a couple of weeks later. He jested about putting me on salary. Mr. Y had positively glowed at me. How many times had I wished for Father to look at me that way? I found I didn't miss him as much as I thought I should. 

  
  
  


(Christine)

Settling into life at Phantasma was easier than I anticipated. Sarah came in my room each morning to help any way I needed. One morning, I simply needed information. 

_ "When did Monsieur order all these clothes?" I was having trouble deciding which lovely ensemble to wear.  _

_ "The day you arrived in America, Madame Daaé." She answered, drawing my bath in the other room.  _

_ When had he planned on me seeing them? If things had gone differently, what would he have done with them? _

_ "What about Gustave? He has more than what we brought from France, correct?" _

_ "Yes, Madame. The Master ordered for him the next day." Sarah giggled. "You should have seen him in the library the afternoon before the Halloween gala." _

_ "What do you mean?" I encouraged.  _

_ "I guess he'd spent some time with the young Monsieur and was trying to pick out books to put in his suite." Sarah shook her head. "Annie, Cass, and I spent half the day getting the rejected ones back where they belonged." _

_ "I'm sorry you had so much extra work," I exclaimed as I lowered myself in the warm water. _

_ "Oh! No ma'am, I didn't mean that. We thought it was cute that he was trying so hard to make things perfect." _

_ Sarah paused thoughtfully and looked back at me.  _

_ "What surprised me was that he hadn't asked you to come here. Cass told me that you only agreed to move in here the morning  _ after _ the closing gala. I actually thought maybe that was why you came to New York in the first place." _

_ No, I thought, but I'm sure that's why I was invited to New York.  _

_ I considered asking Erik about his plans but I decided I probably knew. Erik always planned ahead for the best and expected the worst case scenarios.  _

_ "Sarah please remove the clothing I brought with me. I only wish to keep the things Erik ordered for me." _

_ Sarah's eyes widened in surprise. "Madame?" _

_ I smiled at her. "Feel free to do whatever you wish with it." _

One thing I was enjoying about our new life was how happy and confident my smart little boy was becoming. Our little boy. I watched as Erik was wowed by him day after day. I loved how he was being treated as one of the gang. The strong man's twins had practically claimed him as a missing sibling. By the second week, Madame Rachel had sent him his own pair of official Phantasma overalls and, to my horror, a set of practice trapeze tights. The adults were not condescending. They stopped and listened to him answering his frequent questions. It was amazing that when the family of Phantasma accepted you, they fully accepted you. 

Gustave wasn't the only one who suddenly had friends. None of the ladies looked down on me. They invited me to tea, to lunch, to sit with them, to practice. Not one of them pushed uneasy questions. They didn't hound me about Raoul. We talked children, music, and life. More than one hugged me and commented that they were glad I stayed. I experienced no mockery. I could relax and smile and laugh and not be top news in the daily society gossip column. 

I didn't have to wear my mask. For the first time in years I was Christine again.

Unfortunately with Madame Giry and Meg gone, the theater show was languishing. The plans for next season didn't work without the Oh La La Girl and there was not a replacement in the ranks of the chorus. The girls were great for chorus, even solos, but few were properly trained for larger roles. I began working with them, polishing the talent. It was amazing how fast it all came back to me. 

Gratefully, Mr. Anthony Moroni offered his services as talent agent. He'd shown up hoping to get some of his talent hired. He was gifted in the arena of arrangements and shaping diamonds in the rough. I knew Phantasma needed the two of us to replace the one Madame Giry and I convinced him to be more than a scout. We had a decent framework by the end of November. I was confident that by the time we'd need to start rehearsals in February for the opening spring gala, we would have everything in place. 

I would wrap up some shows with arias, probably on weekends when the park would be busiest. I knew not to do so nightly. My voice would need rests. It had been too many years. We needed an alternate, maybe even an understudy. Mr. Moroni and I decided we would start a search for another soprano so we'd be able to finish every show with, as he said, class. 


	17. Nightmares

Nightmare

(Erik)

The dark swirled around me. It was alive, grasping, clawing. My heart was pounding in my chest. Where was I?

Hell. I was in Hell. A scream drew my attention. The terror, the pain, the horror in the scream tore through me.

"Gustave!" 

_ You don't deserve happiness.  _

The boy was tied to the bars of the cell. 

"Monster!" The morbidly obese man laughed. "Children of monsters are monsters, right, boy?"

Gustave's cry rent the shadows as the gypsy that had once tortured Erik scraped the white hot iron across the boy's face. His face melted off leaving the skull. 

_ How many have you tortured? _

"Noooooo! Gustave!"

Why couldn't I move? Let go of me! I silently screamed. The dark had taken my voice! The claws were shredding me. 

The skull face turned, "Why Father? Why did you let him do this to me?"

The scene shifted. My Christine in rags was weeping at the feet of the Khanum in her rich Persian robes. 

_ How much blood is on your hands?  _

"What do you think, my Angel of Death? I do love my forest." The mother of the Shah smiled at him. "I wonder how long she will last."

I couldn't speak. I couldn't move. Release me! Let me save them! Please! Please! Kill me instead! 

"Perhaps a wager, my Queen? Devil take the hindmost." Raoul stood in his opera tuxedo, dapper and grinning. 

Suddenly Christine was trapped among the metal trees I'd created, the heat blistering her skin, the noose on fire, no longer offering the peace of suicide. 

_ Fitting payment for your sins. _

"My Angel, why?" She begged me. "Why?"

Christine shot out of her bed hearing screams from somewhere in the house.

"Erik? Erik!" 

Forgetting everything else she raced out of her bedroom barefooted in her nightgown. His door was open but the room was empty. 

"Maman?" Gustave stood bleary eyed in his own doorway. 

She clamored down the stairs as the screaming intensified. Cass and Monty appeared in the foyer as she reached the bottom. 

She grabbed the startled Egyptian cook by the front of his bathrobe, "Where is he?"

A crash resounded in the parlor. 

"Erik!"

"Madame wait!"

The two men made a grab for her just missing. 

"Don't go in!" Cass yelled steps behind her. 

Mr. Y thrashed on the sofa. His hand crashed through the small end table sending his mask flying into the wall. Christine froze giving Monty a chance to grab her arm. 

"It isn't safe, Madame! Please!"

"Christine!! Nooo!" Erik wailed. 

Christine began to sing, "Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation.

Darkness wakes and stirs imagination.

Silently, the senses abandon their defenses."

The thrashing was slowing. Monty let go of her arm. Whimpering was replacing the screams as she continued. 

"Softly, deftly, music shall caress you.

Hear it, feel it secretly possess you.

Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind."

She approached him carefully. 

"Floating, falling, sweet intoxication.

Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation. Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in to the power of the music that I sing."

She knelt touching his arm. It dropped. His eyes fluttered open. 

"Christine? Oh, Christine!" 

Like a drowning man he grabbed his life preserver. He mumbled her name over and over.

"Shhhhh, I'm here, shhhhh," she rocked him gently. 

Cass turned to Gustave who had stopped at the foot of the stairs, "Ah, that was easier than normal. Let's go back to bed, young sir."

Gustave asked wide eyed, "Does that happen often?"

Cass looked at the boy for a moment. "The master has led a hard life. He's made difficult decisions. He's suffered things…" Cass shrugged. "I think it happens less often than it could. These past few weeks may be the longest break we've ever had."

  
  


(Erik)

I came to my senses with Christine in my vision. Surely she was a dream. Maybe another facet of the nightmare? 

"Christine?" She pulled me to her. 

"Christine!" I cried into her shoulder. 

I don't know how long she held me while my tremors slowed. As the horror receded, I realized what reality held. Another nightmare must have awakened the entire house.

"I am so sorry. Did I scare you?" I pulled away from her searching her face. She'd been crying. 

"You did, darling. I thought you were in danger." She caressed my face. "It's okay now. You're safe. You're with me."

I took in the room around me. The table legs had splintered. There were shards of porcelain catching the gaslight. There was my Christine kneeling in only her…

"Christine don't move!" I commanded. 

"Wh-what?"

"You'll get cut. Just be still."

I was dressed including shoes having intended to only sit for a few minutes when I'd fallen into the nightmare. I pushed up and stepped around her. Then I bent and pulled her into my arms. There were red spots at her knees. 

"Christine, your knees!"

She laughed. "I'm sure they're fine, Erik. Hello Annie."

The young maid stood at the door in her robe holding a broom and bucket. 

"P-p-pardon me. Monty said something broke."

Sarah stepped into view as well. She held Christine's dressing gown and slippers. 

"Does Madame need these?"

Christine giggled as she blushed. I could feel my face reddening. I was practically holding a naked woman in the middle of a wrecked parlor. 

"I, um, I," Blast it! These three women seemed to enjoy my discomfort. "Sarah, Madame Daaé needs antiseptic and bandages. Please meet me in her suite."

I stalked past trying to ignore the looks and the fact that Christine was still giggling. 

"Thank you for cleaning up, Annie," Christine tossed over my shoulder. 

"Of course, Madame!"

I placed her on the vanity stool in her suite's washroom. She began pulling up the thin pink material to see the damage to her knees. I gulped. It was a gown I'd purchased. I'd known when I ordered it that it would drape across her body just like that. I envisioned it would be opaque enough for her sense of modesty while light enough to be pleasant to sleep in. I had hoped but didn't truly expect to ever see her wear it. Even my extensive imagination had failed to come close to how gorgeous she looked in it. She glanced up to say something. I couldn't hear her. 

"Erik, your arm needs tending." Those words were said louder. 

My other hand went to the oozing red on my shirtsleeves caused by the splintering wood but my eyes continued roaming over her barely concealed form. She was so hauntingly beautiful. Did I see my own thoughts mirrored in her soft eyes? The sweat beading on my forehead had nothing to do with the nightmare.

"Thank you, sir. I'll be able to mend Madame quite easily now. I'm sure Monty can clean your injuries."

Sarah pushed past to bend in front of her, forcing me to blink. Christine's face was flush as she dropped her gaze. I raked my hands across my face. Mumbling something I forced my feet to retreat. 

I closed her suite door behind me. 

"Mr. Y, are you okay?" 

Gustave was standing on the balcony in his striped pajamas. Those were part of the wardrobe I had ordered for him. It struck me that all either of them wore were part of my purchases. Had Christine gotten rid of all their Parisian items? He grimaced when I turned to him. My hand flew to cover my face.

I adjusted my stance to put myself more in the shadows provided by the far spaced electric lights used at night. 

"I am. Thank you, Gustave." I felt awkward. "Do you need anything?"

"I heard Maman." He vaguely gestured at the wall behind me. 

"Sarah is helping her with her bandages."

The boy bristled up, full height, narrowed eyes, fists balling. There was no fear now. He was preparing for battle. He was going into protective mode. He thought I'd injured her!

"Why don't you see if she needs anything?" I backed away in rapid supplication. How could I get him to trust me? "I'm going to get a cup of tea in the kitchen."

Monty had gathered another first aid selection and waited for me. A kettle was warming on the stove. With practiced hands he went over my exposed skin, removed my wig in case shards had lodged there, rolled up my sleeve and began to clean my hand and arm. This was not the first time my flailing had destroyed a piece of furniture. By now Cass had removed what was left of the table and Annie had gotten up every sliver of the shattered mask. We were a well oiled machine when it came to my difficulty sleeping. 

"Bad one, sir," he stated. 

I sulked. 

His fingers went to my deformity causing me to flinch. 

"Apologies, sir, but your cheek is bleeding."

I submitted to his inspection. 

"Nothing in the wound."

He cleaned it as well. 

"No bandage. Just let me hold the cloth until it stops." I took it from him. 

The kettle whistled and he poured me a cup of chamomile. 

"Would you like a cup, young sir?"

Gustave had crept into the brightly lit kitchen. I had no way to cover my face. I shifted in the chair to keep the undamaged side his way. Too late to put back my wig, I sighed. 

"Maman would like chamomile. I told Sarah I'd retrieve it."

Monty started the process. 

"You didn't hurt her." His words were barely audible. "I'm sorry I thought otherwise."

"I would never harm you or your mother." I met his gaze to show my genuineness. "I'm sorry my nightmare woke you."

"Thank you," he accepted the cup from Monty. 

"Raoul hurt her, didn't he?"

The boy's look of shame confirmed the truth. White hot rage seared my core. That fop had hurt my Christine. 

"Did he hurt you?" I envisioned many exquisite tortures for the vicomte. 

"No," his words were tiny, "Maman protected me. She taught me to run, to hide, anytime she gave me the code. She pretended it was a game. She didn't want me to know." He took a steadying breath. "Always said it was accidents."

My Christine! Always taking care of those she loved. My fist clenched on the table before me. I fought the rage.

"Goodnight, Mr. Y."

"Goodnight, Gustave."

(Raoul) 

The dark was living, breathing, moving. It clung to him. It pulled. It clawed. 

He couldn't fight it anymore. Where was he heading? Where was this demonic night dragging him? Why was he here? Why couldn't he move? 

His throat! His fingers were desperate for traction. It tightened. 

The rope was once again squeezing the life from him. Once more he was in the black dungeon at the mercy of the monster. 

That hideous half face was laughing at him. Where was Christine? Why wasn't she trying to save him? 

There! Christine, help me! 

No, she was laughing with him. They were arm in arm. She was holding the other end of the rope. 

"What did you expect, brother?" Philippe shook his head. "She's just a ballet rat."

My Christine wrapped in a lover's embrace. It wasn't a kiss to save me. No, they were wrapped in passion. They were going to leave me hanging, forcing me to watch as the rope drained my life. 

I sat up choking, coughing, gasping to draw breath into my lungs. 

Just a nightmare. 

I wasn't beneath the Opera Populaire. There was no Phantom. 

There was also no Christine. 

My bed was empty, my room dark. I was alone, drenched in sweat, shivering. 

My Christine was gone.  _ His.  _

She took my son from me.  _ His.  _

_ Someone would pay. He would pay with his life!  _

_ And so would she.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, there's Raoul. He is not happy about losing that bet.
> 
> Song: Music of the Night  
> Andrew Lloyd Weber  
> (I left out sections and changed a word. Sorry.)


	18. For My Christine

For My Christine

(Erik) 

She deserved a present after last night. I had plenty of options to choose from. Music had poured nonstop from my fingertips beginning the day I knew my Christine was coming to America. I wrote piece after piece even though I believed she'd never hear them. I had only hired her for one show, one song. 

I laughed at myself. The Daroga had often accused me of being a hopeless romantic. He may have been right after all. I decided I should track him down again. I hadn't seen him since I left France. The night before Christine had come to me I had been in his apartment torn over what I should do. Her visits were sporadic, sometimes with months between without explanation. Then she'd appear as though she'd never been gone. I was tortured knowing that each time she left me it was to go to him and their perfect life. It would have been quite a different conversation had I known what her life was truly like. 

_ "My friend, this is killing you," even with the Persian accent, his command of French was impeccable.  _

_ I hadn't seen her in four weeks and three days. The clock would not stand still so I could calculate the hours and minutes. After half a dozen years of this, I was going over the edge. The madness that drove me to kidnap her was rising. It was June. I reassured myself they were just taking advantage of the warmer temperatures. A quick summer vacation where they could do all the things normal people did. She'd be back. She needed to come back. I needed to see her. I wanted to scream.  _

_ To stop myself from going to her home, I'd gone to his flat. It was the only defense to stop what happened last time from recurring. I didn't need to spend the early morning hours being chased by the gendarmerie because some scullery maid spotted an intruder again. _

_ I collapsed over one of the plush chairs at the fireplace. My long frame dragging the floor around it. How did he tolerate such small furniture? He wasn't as tall as I but he wasn't a small man either.  _

_ He refilled my glass before taking the other seat. He carried an extra bit of weight around nowadays but it appeared that he could sit in these things. I assumed it took practice. I didn't usually sit on these visits. I paced, ranted, swore, but I didn't sit. Then again, I wasn't usually this inebriated. Surely if I could not walk I would not get myself into trouble.  _

_ "I'm telling you nothing you don't know. It would be best if you went away. Create music in Spain. Go back to architecture in Italy. Pan for gold in America. Anything! Leave all this behind." _

_ "Leave Christine," I mumbled.  _

_ He leaned forward, his countenance taking on an earnestness, "Exactly! You've given all you can. She's got a life to live. You've got a life to live. They are not one and the same." _

_ I drained the glass and reached for the bottle on the table between us. I ignored his frown. Being drunk might not be the most mature way to deal with things but it was a way. Plus it was better than other vices he knew I'd utilized in the past. He didn't know how close I came to stopping at the opium den instead of his place.  _

_ "Erik," he waited until I gave him my blurry attention, "You sent her to him to save her. It's time to save yourself." _

_ "I don't know if I want to be saved." _

_ He stroked his thick beard as he pondered that comment.  _

_ "Wouldn't Christine want it for you? Maybe she keeps hoping to not find you. Maybe she prays that one day she will enter your flat, find it empty, and learn years later that you made a real life for yourself out in the world."  _

_ I glared, "Or maybe she's waiting for me to ask her to come with me." _

_ Nadir impolitely questioned my intelligence in Farsi and opened another bottle. He had agreed that incapacity was the best course of action.  _

_ "You can't offer her a life with you if you don't have one of your own."  _

This was the longest we'd been out of touch. I wanted to show him what I'd become. I'd taken his advice to heart and created a life that I, and he, could be proud of without reservation. Besides, I wanted to introduce him to my son. I smiled. He would get to say 'I told you so' yet again. 

Christine came down the stairs dressed for dinner in a lovely maroon ensemble. I'd disagreed with Madame Rachel about that one. I was glad she insisted. Christine saw me at the entryway to the music room and turned to join me. I stepped in and sat down at the piano opening the folder that held the composition. I began to play. I loved how her eyes, which moments before had shown fatigue, lit up. 

"So this is what you've been working on!" 

This one was a gamble. It was barely hours old. I hadn't rewritten it obsessively. It was also the most direct. I couldn't allow any more time to pass before I told her. It was killing me not knowing if she would stay. I couldn't handle a repeat of those years. Not with our son in the balance. 

I began to sing.

_ "Look at this life. I know I don't deserve it. Look at this heart. Still beating with your music. I don't know much but I know I love you and that may be all I have to know." _

Her steps faltered, hesitated. I couldn't follow the emotions that fluttered past.  _ "Look at these eyes. They've never seen what mattered. Look at our dreams so beaten and so battered. I don't know much but I know I love you. And that may be all I need to know." _

She moved up beside me to see what I'd written.  _ "So many questions, still left unanswered. So much I've never broken through."  _

I almost hit the wrong key when Christine's voice floated through the room joining with me, her hand on my shoulder, _ " And when I feel you near me, sometimes I see so clearly, the only truth I've ever known is me and you." _

I stared at her, unable to look away,  _ "Look at this man, so blessed with inspiration. Look at this soul still searching for salvation. I don't know much but I know I love you. And that may be all I need to know." _

The music continued as we held one another's gaze. Our voices entwined again for a final chorus, " _ I don't know much but I know I love you. And that may be all there is to know." _

Did she mean it? The notes faded. Her lips parted as if to speak. Applause caused her to blink and look away. Cass, Annie, Sarah, and Cook stood in the doorway. 

"Apologies, sir, but dinner is served."

Poor Cass looked quite distressed at having forgone decoram. The fellow took his position as butler very seriously. I often wondered if he would have attempted an English accent if he knew how. I had noticed he'd picked up a colloquialism or two from Sarah since she'd joined the household. 

I wanted to speak with my Christine alone. I wanted to hear what she didn't say but once more I'd have to wait. Instead, I took a steadying breath and stood offering Christine my arm to escort her to the dining room. A light blush painted her cheeks as she smiled up at me. My heart skipped a beat. 

It was then I realized our Gustave had been watching us as well. He had been continuously observing us over the weeks. He would watch us work with music and performers, here and at the concert hall. He would study us when we sat reading in the library or talking in the parlor. I caught him staring at us often. Sometimes I thought I read confusion on his face. Sometimes it seemed as though he was pleased. I simply could not decide what he thought of us. 

I was being careful to be absolutely proper. Well, now I was. According to Cass, he hadn't seen her holding me after the nightmare and I didn't see him when I carried her upstairs. He'd missed those interactions. However, he had seen me hold her hand and be far more intimate than I should have been the evening after the performance and that next morning. That was for her. She needed me more than I needed to keep up appearances for the boy. She had made a drastic decision. If I hadn't touched her that day, I think she would have been undone. 

I was hopeful that he hadn't realized I spent the night in her room. Well, I hoped that he didn't think it was more than he saw. He'd found me at her bedside and that was where I'd remained. Not proper but we'd crossed no other lines. 

He'd been very anxious about something. Raoul? Meg's actions? Perhaps why I was there? Surprisingly he didn't voice an objection. He seemed to understand I was there to help her. I wondered if he'd seen us or heard us talking before I'd taken her to her bed. Surely he'd have made inquiries in the last seven weeks if he had. 

Since then, I had kept my distance as a man who was not her husband should. I would not hold her hand but I would offer my arm. I would not kiss her or hold her despite the urge to do so. 

Hiding my true feelings was an utterly lost cause so I didn't bother. Every time she walked into a room, I felt myself light up. When she wasn't there, I found myself actively searching for her, waiting for her return. Perhaps it was a good thing if he saw someone adore his mother. 

I told myself I was being patient letting her choose. Thanks to my song, maybe I'd have the answer tonight. 

Unfortunately, she knew me well enough to have a million reasons to not stay. True, she had called me 'my love' that first night but terms of endearment weren't decisions. I had given her space to decide to either stay with me or simply accept my assistance wherever she wished to go. I had to admit that I was terrified she would choose to go and take our son. 

I didn't want to miss any more time with him. Every day it became more apparent to me that Gustave was as astute as I had been at his age. To be honest, I had come to believe that he was more brilliant than I but had not been forced into or allowed to exercise that intelligence. As the days passed, his questions became more complex. His vocabulary altered to reflect his comprehension. His eyes began to light up with understanding when I would converse in the languages of the different members of my staff. I suspected he was learning more than engineering and architecture from my books. I'd picked up languages as I moved to new countries. He did it by reading books! My son amazed me. 

Once again I caught myself praying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't Know Much  
> Songwriters: Cynthia Weil / Barry Mann / Tom Snow  
> Apologies for the alterations
> 
> The may have been a more appropriate song to use but YouTube played this one and it stuck in my head.


	19. What Don't I Know?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gustave has a few questions.

What Don't I Know 

(Gustave) 

Dinner was its usual amazing fare. The cook, I had learned, was trained in Europe. Montemha Fakhry had been a gourmet chef employed by an English lord until he fell in love with the lord's daughter. Sarah was disowned by her family when she chose to marry and come with him to America. 'The happiest day of my life', was how she described it to me when they told me the story. They had only joined the Phantasma family at the beginning of last year. Before that, they had bounced from hotels to restaurants all over. No one really seemed interested in taking a chance on a dark Middle Eastern man married to a white girl. I'd seen some of that ridiculous behavior back in France. It saddened me that America wasn't better. 

Afterwards we'd gone through together to the parlor for drinks. It was another nice routine we'd begun the first night in the mansion. Cocoa for me while they took tea. I knew it was something I'd heard adults would do with cocktails. I'd never heard of children being invited. Then again, most families I'd known back home didn't eat with their children either. Mother and I would take meals together if we were alone but it required special occasions like birthdays for me to have meals with Father. 

We even had our own seats in the parlor. Mother always took the sofa because she liked to tuck her legs up under her. Mr. Y took the plush chair adjacent to her. I decided that had more to do with wanting to be beside her than preference. It was as if they were always close enough to touch but wouldn't. I figured it was because he was a bachelor and she was a married woman. I took the carpet in front of the roaring fireplace so I could stretch out on my stomach. Tonight, however, I was sitting up watching them. 

Life here was so different from our life in France. Mother seemed to search for him in every room. They enjoyed each other's company. They could be intensely focused on music but never minded if I interrupted. They would read quietly together in the library and I was welcome to join them. I never felt in the way or annoying or a bother. In fact, he seemed to welcome my presence as much as Mother always did. He'd engage me in the conversations and invite me to join in whatever activity. I decided he probably didn't have a lot of experience with children. Based on observation though, he did have plenty of experience with people who didn't fit in. Perhaps that's why we seemed to do well together. My 'friends' in France had always made it clear that I did not belong. My father may have been a vicomte but my mother was a low class stage performer. 

In France, Mother had always seemed to pay close attention to where Father was. I wasn't naive. I knew her reason was to ensure she did not need to derail situations. It was not from some kind of adoration. At home, there was no sense of comfortable closeness. She was wary. She'd watch him drink and attempt to distract him from more. She 'walked on eggshells' was the fitting phrase I'd heard earlier that day in relation to something a few ladies were discussing at the trapeze practice. I had tried and failed to be a part of my parents' time together. Admittedly, there were many incredibly fun times we enjoyed when he had won or had not wanted to drink. They just seemed so sporadic that they were more like dreams mixed into reality. 

I was amazed at how happy and strong my mother was becoming. She had become the woman I remembered from a few years ago. Father was called to Brussels on business and was gone for nearly three months. The house had been filled with joy and music. We had read and played games. We even sat in peaceful silence. Those months were amazing. I had almost hoped Father wouldn't come home. I'd felt bad about those thoughts until he did come home. Things must not have gone well. I chose to not think about that right now. I wanted to focus on other things. 

The song earlier had had an interesting effect on dinner. I couldn't decide if it was bad or good. There was obviously something they were needing to discuss but neither was willing to broach the subject. Well, they could wait but I decided it was time for at least one elephant to be removed from the room. During a comfortable pause in conversation, I asked the question I'd been contemplating. 

"What don't I know?" I plunged. 

"I'm not sure what…" Mother began sounding quite confused. 

The pause was during a conversation about a new book she was reading so she was still thinking in terms of Dickens. 

"You left Father's note on your dressing room table the night you sang. I took it." I confessed. "I read it at the hotel." 

Shocked silence. 

She blushed with shame."Raoul and I have separated."

"It's okay, Maman," There was no way to get answers without upsetting her. 

"I should have said something before now."

"I didn't ask either," I offered, trying to soften it.

I needed to expand my query. I looked at Mr. Y. I had wanted to ask this question since that night. 

"Are you the Angel of Music who is to look after Mother?"

"I am." Came the solemn reply as he sat up straighter.

I didn't expect him to deny it, but it seemed strange to hear him say yes. I remembered stories. I'd heard so many of them that they were almost like fairy tales.

"That really makes Mr. Y the music maestro you learned from at the opera house?" I said to my mother. 

"Yes. Erik is the one from the stories I told you." She knew what I was thinking. 

She unfolded herself. He leaned forward a bit. Silence held. There was more to this. There had to be. It's not like Father simply went on a bender and forgot to come home. He always came home. The note hinted at choices made. Choices made by him or Mother? Perhaps by them both? Was I positive I wanted to know the rest? I steeled myself. I needed to know. It was too important and it would explain so much. I'd seen Maman's melancholy look numerous times since we moved in. More times in the last few weeks than I could recall over the last few years. How did I need to approach it? I chose to lay a small foundation for what I'd come to suspect.

"I remember people talking about you and Father losing babies..." I started the thought but wanted her to finish it. Heaven knew I didn't want to say it. 

"We did. I had four miscarriages before you were born," she said matter of factly though I glimpsed the sorrow on her face.

The masked man gasped quietly, "You never said."

He grabbed her hand as it sat on the arm of the sofa. I could see the grief written all over him. She gave him an apologetic look. 

That explained a bit too. He was unaware of what had happened in her life. They talked but not about that? Why not? I recalled the conversation in the kitchen. I wondered how much he knew versus how much he didn't know. How could their relationship seem so deep if so much was not shared? I pondered that but those questions were for another time. 

I felt bad because, logically, all of this could mean only one thing: My suspicions were correct. 

"I am not the child of the Vicomte de Chagny." 

Mother looked down placing her hands in her lap. Her fingers twisted around themselves. No one argued. I looked at the man wearing a mask. His eyes met mine. They were so oddly colored black and gold. They reflected the fire as glowing yellow embers. 

"You are my father."

I wouldn't say my mother had an affair. No reason to state the obvious. They had been married nearly eighteen years. It wasn't like I could even be the product of a final fling before the wedding. I refused to shame her by saying the word. 

They exchanged looks. He was… afraid? She smiled at him encouragingly. 

"I am." He whispered as if he was fighting to say the words, every muscle tense, every nerve on fire. 

Annie stepped in to refill cups. She felt the tension in the air. Her eyes flitted from one to another. 

"Please tell Monty it was delicious," Maman smiled, always the perfect lady of the house. "And let everyone know we're done for the night? It's been a long day."

"Yes, Madame. Should I send Sarah on to your suite?"

"No, thank you."

"Goodnight, Madame and Messieurs."

She left and Mother turned her full attention back to us. 

I didn't want to but I had to know. It was like reading a Greek tragedy. Someone, quite possibly the entire cast, was going to be decimated by the final curtain. I just had to know how it was going to end. 

"I understand the," I blushed slightly, "mechanics of how but I find it difficult.. I mean, I'm sure there was a why or a when." I gave up the stuttering by admitting, "I don't know if this is my business at all."

I couldn't even ask what I wanted to know. Who was I kidding? I wasn't really sure what information I wanted to know. It wasn't as if I was interested in whether or not they had wine or anything. The pause was long enough that I was about to say I understood. 

"I was still receiving voice lessons from my Angel of Music." She started so softly. "I rarely got to sing. It's improper for a vicomtesse to be on stage. But I did not want to lose my voice. I needed to sing. I desperately..." She simply stopped speaking. 

"I know how you feel about music, Maman." I wanted to encourage her to continue. "It's a very important part of you."

She still didn't start again. She seemed a bit lost in the past.

I remembered a comment my governess made not long before she was dismissed about how Mother was just too low born to understand how things were supposed to work. I knew other children spent most of their time with people other than their parents. The woman had said Mother needed friends so she could let her do her job. I had also seen how she had been treated by most of the society ladies and by the de Chagny family in particular. It could be painful to watch at times. 

"I know you needed friends, too." 

She gave me a soft smile. She was finally back from whenever she'd gone. 

"Erik and I practiced. Scales, arias, pieces I was engaged to perform on those rare occasions. We did not discuss life or make plans. We simply sang. We just had our music." 

She paused a moment to find her words and reached out for my hand. I slid up onto the sofa with her. She gave me her full attention and I gave her mine. When she spoke it was slow and deliberate. 

"What happened that one night between myself and Erik gave me the most amazing gift I've ever dreamt of," she kissed my cheek. "You. I Iove you, Gustave."

I'd been holding my breath. That was all that mattered. She may have made a grave mistake when it came to her marriage vows but she loved me. I wasn't a terrible reminder. I was wanted. It wasn't until she said it that I realized that was the answer I wanted to hear. That was the question I was asking. It was all I needed to know from her. I hugged her more fiercely than I intended. She didn't seem to mind. 

But there was him. He'd left us both. I stood up and took a few steps pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace before I got my courage up. 

"What happened to you?" 

I watched his fingers, long and graceful, like mine. I'd noticed when he was nervous or stressed he'd tap them on his legs. I wondered if he heard the music they played in his head like I did. I began to think his fingers would cramp before he'd speak. He appeared to not want to look at either of us. Shame? Regret?

"After that night," he paused, took another breath, "after that night I left. I was trying to protect your mother. I thought she was better off with de Chagny, with her title. I couldn't expect her to run away with me." He waved a hand towards his face. 

Yeah, I'd seen what the mask hid. I thought he was done speaking. I had hoped for more. 

"I didn't know what he was like. I didn't know why you came." He rubbed her arm gently. "I am so sorry."

Her eyes widened as he whispered his apology to her. She bowed her head as tears fell. He gently placed a kiss on her hand. He loved Maman. The song I'd heard them singing earlier was not just a composition. It had been a declaration. Suddenly he looked at me so intently that I took a step back. 

"Had I known you were on your way, there would have been no obstacle on earth that could have kept me from you."

I gulped. He must have read that as fear. I think it broke him a little. He averted his gaze.

I wanted, no I needed to fix that. I stepped closer. 

He loved me, too. That much was evident thanks to the last few weeks. In fact it was crystal clear to me as I thought over how he'd treated me, how proud he was, how encouraging. I needed to know how to love him back.

I reached for the mask. He flinched but nodded his hands gripping the arms of the chair. I slid it off. I studied the face that had terrified me but that my mother apparently loved. I couldn't think of how to describe it. It looked painful, angry with the red scarring, the exposed looking, translucent skin covering a patch of skull, and the droopy eyelid. It was a startling contrast to the unmarred side with the perfect complexion, high cheekbone, and strong jawline. He might have been rather handsome in another reality. I also realized that the overall shape and angular features reminded me of myself in the mirror. 

His face really wasn't so bad to see when you knew the man. He'd been wonderful to both of us. He was respected and admired by all of Phantasma as so much more than an employer. I'd heard some great stories about how he had in some way or other rescued many of them. 

Without meaning to, I reached out and touched it. Just skin. It felt rough in spots and soft in others. The mask was protection for him because some people were cruel and screamed when they saw him. I changed how I was holding my hand so that my palm was against his check. 

"I'm sorry I screamed." 

I removed my hand. He nodded in acknowledgment. 

I thought back to last night when his nightmare woke us. Cook had been calmly mending that side of his face. 

"You don't usually… You started wearing the mask at home for me, didn't you?"

"I. Take. Some. Getting used to."

His face was actually a unique kind of beautiful when I considered how much he loved her. She deserved that kind of devoted love. I knew I was just starting to piece it together but it seemed to be one of those amazing love stories with obstacles the size of mountains. It was the kind of story they wrote operas about. 

"It's nice to meet you, Father," I smiled and offered my hand.

He swallowed hard as he shook it. 


	20. The Reverend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot going on in poor Erik's life. Thankfully, he has made friends that aren't afraid to tell him like it is.

(Erik) 

The conversation with Gustave had drained Christine. Understandable considering it required admitting an affair and ten years of a lie. 

She left with him to go upstairs without returning. I wasn't sure if she'd slept in her room or in his. I believed more questions were probably answered. 

I knew I had more I'd like to discuss. I wanted details about what happened. Every fiber of my being itched to punish that  _ vicomte.  _

I stewed downstairs a long time before I spent the rest of my sleepless night in my tower office. 

I forced myself to wait until dawn was imminent before I walked through the privacy fence on my way to the far end of Coney Island from Phantasma.

The early morning mist swirled around the church. The parsonage, a grand name for the Reverend's small cottage, was tucked just behind it and to the side of the well maintained cemetery. 

It was there the mysterious Mr. Y was always welcome regardless of the time. 

"Good morning, Claire," I spoke softly and clearly through the sliding peephole. 

The door slammed open as the young lady's face lit up in delight and she grabbed me in a hug. Her round features and almond eyes gave the impression of childhood despite her almost thirty years of life. She was wrapped in her robe. 

I was very early. I was surprised I hadn't woke them. 

"Was that mine or do I have to deliver it to Bubba?" I inquired as I did each visit. 

"Erik's because he's missed so many." She scolded before returning to her effervescent self. "Bubba's here yesterday. Tea time!" 

She turned and I followed her to the kitchen. It would have done no good to disagree. Tea was always the menu when I visited. 

Reverend Richard Colton was beginning his breakfast. I was glad that it appeared his daughter had already finished. That meant she'd be busy elsewhere. I knew I'd rather not have my discussion with him in her presence. 

He brushed a napkin across his face as he stood to shake hands. He gestured at the food still trying to swallow. 

"Just Claire's delicious tea," I removed my cloak. 

The older gentleman finally freed his tongue for his prying statements. "It's been a few weeks, my friend, and you've missed services."

I made a noncommittal noise. 

His startling green eyes, quick wit, and easy smile were that of a young man while his silver hair, wrinkled face, and closely groomed beard gave a truer approximation of the widower's age. 

Claire placed a cup and a small flowered teapot in front of a chair for me so I could serve myself. Then she waited. I handed her the porcelain and my cloak with a resolved sigh. She had decided the mask was like a hat and part of her job was to take coats and hats from callers. It was another of the many quirks of her perceptions of how things were done. 

I found it nearly impossible to argue with someone who never once flinched at my face but I did avoid visiting when others would also be at the house. My best defense had only moved the retrieval to whichever room I joined her father instead of at the door where a passerby might catch a glimpse. 

"And it seems you would prefer to hide today," he tsked at me. 

The man knew me well. We had become acquaintances when Phantasma was just a construction site and he was fighting to keep his church. Less scrupulous attraction and business owners were trying to force him away. 

Their protest had something to do with removing the reminder of the sins they were urging their clientele to commit. While I had been introduced to Catholicism as a child, I had chosen to not believe in any version of God. I also saw no reason to dispute anyone else's beliefs. Thus I had been uninterested in the drama until a group of thugs decided to burn the church down. 

I was responding to the commotion but what recklessly drew me into the fray was Claire. The verbal assault was quickly escalating. One of the men announced that the best way to get rid of the man of God was to show him that God didn't care about his daughter. 

There was no way I'd let her innocence be taken. She was a forever child and I would protect her at all costs. 

When I appeared from the shadows decimating their ranks, that same man screamed that the devil was real. To his terror I had lost my mask when one of the others hit me across the face with a bat. The battle was over quickly as they ran terrified of the demonic hell they feared unleashed. 

Sweet Claire had run to me to stop the bleeding from the cut on my forehead. She had known that only the cut was the injury. She patted my birth ravaged cheek as she thanked me. It never crossed her mind to fear me and I adored her for it. 

To cement the idea that the church was under my care although not on my property, I began weekly visits to check on her. Those had morphed into religious debates, historical discussions, art critiques, and more with her father. Her older brother became Dr. Gangle, Phantasma partner and Master of Ceremonies upon his return from South America a few months later. No one dared interfere with the little church again. 

He waited patiently. 

"Apologies for my lack of attendance," I said wryly.

"Of course! Your Halloween Gala is your closing show and all that work to winterize the park."

He didn't point out that I hadn't missed the services the previous 5 years. I read it in his half smile

"Things are busy," I agreed as I drank a cup of tea. 

He shook his head. I'd come to him to talk but he'd have to do most of it at the rate I was chatting. When I was like this, Reverend Colton would pause between sentences and ask extra questions to allow me a chance to speak. 

"I know about the Girys. Have you visited Meg?"

I flinched and drank more tea. It wasn't good. Not Claire's fault. I'd forgotten to send over the brand I enjoyed. I really had been distracted lately. 

"Doctors told me to stay away. I might feed her obsession. They send updates."

He could tell that wasn't the subject I needed to discuss. He mulled over potential options between bites of eggs. 

"Madame de Chagny is the Christine you've mentioned before. I hear she and her son stayed in America."

I played with my cup. He knew he was on the right track. He chewed a piece of toast. 

"Connor says her son is quite intriguing. Brilliant was one word."

I suddenly found the lace tablecloth fascinating. 

"He's mine," I confessed. 

He obviously expected that. He sipped his coffee patiently. 

The rest of the story tumbled out. My disastrous opera, her marriage, the secret lessons, the one night we didn't sing, my near death and flight from France, even the bet with the vicomte. 

"I abandoned my family. I wasted ten years."

"Erik, my boy, how many times must I remind you that all things work in God's timing."

The Reverend handed me a handkerchief. I hadn't realized tears were streaming down my face. 

"Ten years, Richard."

"Think carefully, Erik. Everything you've experienced in the last decade." He leaned forward. "The people you've impacted. You weren't with your son six years ago, but you were saving my daughter. Seven years ago Anita Fleck needed you. Last year Rachel's surgery. The list goes on."

"I left them with an abusive man." The guilt was overwhelming. 

"First, if you had known he wasn't as he appeared, you would have not," he hesitated, " _ Given  _ Christine to him. That's the way you put it, right?"

I squinted at him. 

"Yes, I'm going to disagree with you here," he shook his head, "I do hope you left out important details because it sounds as if the two of you were acting like school boys playing a vicious round of King of the Mountain." He frowned, "Did either of you ask what she wanted?" He sounded honestly disappointed. 

I felt the blood rush to my cheeks. Nadir had accused me of much the same thing one day after a practice session. I'd forbidden her from seeing Raoul and he'd demanded she not see me. Poor girl should have made a getaway with Nadir, Reyer, André, anyone but the two idiots that ended up beneath Paris that night. 

I slumped. Taking that as acquiescence, he considered his next words. I drank another cup of tea. 

"You've told me much of your story. Feel free to correct me but, would you have been a good father ten years ago? Would you honestly have been in a position mentally, emotionally, even financially to care for your family before now?"

I bristled. He thought I'd be a worse father than that fop? 

"Think." He spoke a little faster knowing my anger was rising. "I know how much you've, forgive my wording, grown just while I've known you."

I ticked off ten ways I could kill him without having to stand. 

"Claire," it was time to leave before I lost my patience. 

She appeared attired in a lovely green frock with my cloak and mask. That explained where she was during our conversation. I put them on with the plan to stalk away but Claire, always fine tuned to others' emotions, decided I needed another hug. 

Her arms wrapped around my waist with her cherub cheek pressed to my chest. She considered me a brother and there were rules when it came to her family. I learned long ago that I had to genuinely return the hug if I wished to be released. 

I glared at Richard. Forced to be still, my mind raged, demanded, implored, relented. 

The only reason I was mad was because his assessment was so blasted accurate. It would have been a choice between two monsters. 

Perhaps his God knew which was the lesser of the two evils. What did that say about me? I would never hurt them but would I have taken care of them? With my temperament? My particular issues with humanity? My meltdowns? It took years for me to become the man known as Mr. Y, respected businessman who wasn't to be messed with by anyone and to shed the impulses to be the dreaded Phantom. 

It took several moments before I put my arms around her. 

I glanced at him as he smirked at me, "You may be right."

"I hope to meet them Sunday."

Claire approved and let me go.

"She's Catholic." 

"Ah, well, nobody's perfect." He winked. 


	21. Letters from Home

Letters From Home 

(Christine) 

Erik came in the front door as we came down for breakfast. I wondered where he had been but with Christmas barely a week away, I didn't want to ask that kind of question. 

The bell rang before we could really enjoy the food prepared for us. The package that arrived was from Paris for the Vicomtesse de Chagny. Cass brought it in with the rest of the morning post. I hesitated as I opened it. There were actually three smaller divisions inside, two addressed to me and one to Gustave. 

"What is it, Mother?"

I handed his to him. He examined it suspiciously. I opened the official looking one. As the letterhead became visible, I gasped. I'd been expecting something but I wasn't going to handle this well. It could say so many different things. Terrible things. Life ending things! 

I needed space. I had to get out of the room. I fled hugging the parcels to my chest. 

"Maman!" 

I heard Gustave call after me. I hoped Erik would stop him. Since I did not hear his footsteps on the stairs behind me, Erik must have succeeded in convincing him I needed some time. 

I burst into my room slapping the door closed behind me. I collapsed onto the chaise lounge in my beautiful lavender and lace dream room. I fought to control my composure. I needed the world to not spin so fast. 

It seemed strange to hold this envelope in this idyllic place, the room I'd dreamed of as a child and described in painstaking detail as Erik drew it for me one night long ago. Then he built it for me. The thought of his love calmed me. 

  
  
  
  


(Gustave)

I looked at the very thick bundle Mother gave me. My father, how strange that thought was!, had not wanted me to follow her. We both startled at the slam of her door. 

It made sense. If she'd wanted me to see her cry, she would have stayed at the table, not raced to her room. I pushed the food around on my plate. My appetite had evaporated. 

Out of the corner of my vision, I saw him fidget, fingers drumming by the plate, slight movements as he kept looking towards the foyer. I wondered what he'd do. 

He followed her after a few moments, promising that he would take care of her. That was a good choice. I'd begun to fear I'd have to tell him to go to her. 

If at only ten I knew that she needed him and he didn't, then that could explain some of the issues between them! 

He'd be able to help if needed. He could hug her while she cried. 

It was strange to let someone else step in. I had been the only one who loved her enough to care for her for so long. It would take getting used to not being her only support. 

I did not want to read whatever it was right now. I left it unopened on the table. I got my heavy jacket from Cass, asked him to put the offending parcel away, and went out the front door. 

I wandered through the shuttered park. Even this close to Christmas, there were still several staff members moving around. People would have to oil and repair and build equipment all winter long to keep the spring gala on schedule. I scowled at the ground as I stomped over it. 

"Master Gustave, how are you this bright and beautiful morning?" Dr. Gangle inquired as he strolled past in the opposite direction with a toolbox. 

I shrugged. 

The tall, thin man spun on his heel to match pace with me. I may have been tall for my age but he had trouble reducing his stride to match. It was comical. Ah! The showman, of course. 

"It's still bright and beautiful, you know."

"I don't mean to be rude, sir. We heard from the Vicomte de Chagny this morning."

Dr. Gangle pursed his lips. He wasn't about to ask exactly what that could mean. His raised eyebrow meant he'd caught the fact that I hadn't said father. I could bet that he'd like to inquire although there was a touch of a happy grin. 

Maybe all the adults around here knew the truth of my parents. Well, that couldn't be right. I had heard a few versions of why we'd stayed so not all of them could know. 

Hmmm, should I call him Father or Mr. Y or...

"I shall assume that is not the most pleasant of events," he squeezed my shoulder bringing me out of my swirling thoughts. "Perhaps you would like to assist me?"

I sighed. Did I really feel like doing anything at all? 

"It requires dismantling the mechanism that…"

"I'm in!" 

I couldn't care less what we would be dismantling. The man knew me well. 

"Thank you, Dr. Gangle."

He grinned, "Anytime my boy."

  
  


(Christine) 

I heard the door open and close, my eyes glued to the potential explosive I held. Erik had followed me. I was so relieved as he sat beside me. I needed his presence. I needed his strength. 

I acknowledged him with a grateful sigh as I pulled the official looking documents out of the official looking envelope. The letterhead belonged to the de Chagny solicitor. I read it carefully. France did not allow divorce only annulments. I realized that his brother, le Comte de Chagny, must have aided him because a divorce decree from a Belgium court filed by a law firm in Brussels was included. Philippe must have set things up long ago for a foreign court to have the jurisdiction to end our marriage. I searched the words carefully. There were no demands in regards to Gustave being sent to France as was his right.That must have been done at Raoul's insistence. I sighed relieved. I could fill my lungs with air again. My heart slowed to normal. 

But neither did it deny Gustave as his child? Without that, he was still in line for the title. I found that surprising. I wondered if he told Philippe the truth. 

Erik sat still, watching and waiting, patiently with his hands resting in his lap. I wondered if he had any idea how much his simple presence meant to me in this moment. 

There was one other point that could not have been Philippe's idea: the reason given for the divorce was abandonment of family by Raoul. 

He had loved me in his way. He probably figured that even in America, Gustave and I would face quite the scandal if he laid the blame at my feet where it belonged. 

I expected the tears but they still seemed to punch me hard. My heart broke for what should have been. I wept for the life I had envisioned with my childhood friend. I wept for what Gustave may face now that the choices had been made. I wept for the freedom that was now mine. 

The papers slid to the floor. 

Erik gathered me into his arms and held me as I shuddered. I wondered what he thought. I knew how difficult it was for him when he knew I was in pain. 

I had kept so much from him when he gave me those lessons, those respites that kept me sane after I had married. I had to not tell him. 

Perhaps I could have told him of the lost children, but what could he have done? 

I couldn't tell him of the increasingly vicious arguments or the too tightly held wrists. I had to hide those tears and that pain. 

Besides, I reasoned, Erik was gone before the first punch landed. He would no doubt have dealt harshly with Raoul and I was trying to protect them both. Erik would have killed Raoul and would have hanged for it. 

I clung to him. I breathed in his exotic spices and woodsy scent. His chest was so muscular, his shoulders so broad. He was my fortress, my safety. He had been since he was my Angel of Music during life at the opera. 

I was free. After all this time, I was free for him again. More importantly, I was free for me. 

His song filled my memory. I had sung with him but we had not talked. He didn't know I'd chosen. 

I sat back and looked up at him. That mask hid his face from me. I held his eyes as I reached up and took it off. 

I'd show him. I placed my hands on either side of his handsome face and pulled him to me. 

Oh! His lips! I felt his surprise then his pleasure as he returned my passion. This wasn't just an after-performance-high celebration kiss. This was one that promised so very much more. 

I felt his arms ease around me. I revelled in his touch as his fingers slipped through my dark curls gripping my head and his other hand pressed my back to pull me into him. His chest heaved under my touch. My arms wrapped around his neck pulling him even closer.

His lips left mine to trace down my neck. Instantly his entire demeanor changed. He sat away, his eyes searching mine, his hands on my shoulders.

"Christine?"

That night so long ago when I was not free, he had done the same thing. He loved me too much to ever impose his will, his wants. He had been so rejected throughout his life he would never presume. 

He'd sung to me. There was no doubt how he felt. I wanted him to see I had no doubts as well. 

I answered by holding his gaze while unbuttoning his shirt and slipping my hands under the fabric to slide it and his jacket off his shoulders. 

His fingers wrapped softly around my wrists as he lowered his head with a look of absolute despair. 

"No."

I felt my entire being crumble. I pulled away trying to make myself small. 

He didn't want me?

"I can't live through that again," he whimpered. 

What? What did he mean? 

"You leaving me over and over. I will die."

"You left me," I was the one left sleeping that morning. 

He exploded upward, pacing, shoving his hands through what little hair grew on his head, his shirt flapping. I hadn't seen him this disheveled since that awful night when he'd sent me away. 

"You left me!" He growled in anguish. "You tracked me down! You wanted to sing! You never talked to me! You left me in the dark!"

He stopped. His arms opened in a desperate attempt to show the emptiness he'd felt. Never had I seen such desolation on his face, not even when I gave back his ring. I could no longer meet his gaze. 

"You would appear, sing with me, then vanish, sometimes for months. You wouldn't talk to me," he collapsed to his knees. "You mourned four children. He hurt you. And. You. Never. Told. Me."

The man was broken. I was protecting him, wasn't I? It would have hurt him to know of the miscarriages. He would have threatened or killed Raoul if he'd known how angry he'd become. 

Erik was my safe space, my escape from reality. My, mine, me...

How could I have been so selfish!

I had earned a special place in Hell. I had treated the man I loved more than life itself like an imaginary friend. He was someone I could take out of the cabinet when I wanted to take a break from reality then I put him back up until later. A toy, a plaything, I was the false friend in this tragedy. It was my fault. I had… I'd used him! I had manipulated him.

"Oh dear God in heaven, Erik," I could scarcely utter his name between sobs, "I am so sorry."

Wave after wave of guilt washed over me. How could I explain? There was no justification. I had been so broken that I broke him. 

I'd tell him everything. But where should I begin? 

He stared at me. I couldn't face him. I looked anywhere but at him. 

"We eloped. Didn't surface for a couple of months. Raoul thought if we came home pregnant…"

I searched the floor. 

"When he contacted Philippe, he insisted we stay away because of the publicity. We traveled for almost two years."

I reached for the paperwork. 

"I lost a child in Italy. Then a second in Spain. Philippe was furious that I was falling to fill the house with 'half breeds'."

Gustave's beautiful face interrupted my thoughts as I shuffled the documents. 

"He told Raoul that if he wanted a chorus whore, he should have gotten one that wasn't defective."

I put them back in the envelope. Tears were drying on my cheeks. I had no new ones to shed. 

"Raoul idolized his brother. He had no identity outside of his title. Standing up for us became increasingly difficult and alcohol was easy."

The envelope was placed on my writing desk as I began to pace. "When I lost our third child, Raoul snapped. He still wasn't home when the doctor declared me recovered weeks later."

My audience of one rose slowly and stood with his hands in his pockets as he listened. 

"Nadir didn't mean to tell me your location. It was an off-handed remark in the middle of a conversation when I saw him in the park. I couldn't stop myself from going to you."

I could see him remembering that day. It was an irritatingly beautiful spring day. I'd felt horrible and gray. My feet had taken me to the complex where he was supposed to be living and I'd knocked before I even considered the consequences. 

_ "Erik? It's me," I called quietly.  _

_ I heard something clatter to the floor. Then I heard shuffling around before steps approached the door. It opened slowly as he backed up to allow me entry.  _

_ It was as if no time had passed. My Angel of Music stood in his expensive black suit, white shirt, and mask. The setting, though, had changed quite a bit. The two room apartment was small, sparsely furnished but clean. Kitchen necessities, bed, table, and chair were in the first room with the private washroom through a door in the far corner. Heavy curtains blocked most of the natural light making the candles a requirement instead of an aesthetic. He gestured to the chair which I took while he stepped over to the cold fireplace. The silence was so loud.  _

_ "Why are you here, Christine?" _

_ With all the truer answers I could have given, I said, "To ask for voice lessons, Maestro." _

_ "Is that... all... you wish, Christine?" His voice was the caress of petals.  _

_ "Yes." _

_ Perhaps he could tell I was lying but he gave a curt nod and walked to the door dismissing me, "We start tomorrow at this time. Good day, Madame de Chagny." _

_ When I returned a small piano had replaced the table and chair.  _

"I left you in the dark because I wanted one good unspoiled thing in my life. You kept me sane."

"I would have kept you safe if you had trusted me." 

I hugged myself at his words. I had to tell him now. 

"That night Raoul punched a wall near my head so I ran to you. I kept quiet. I told myself I was protecting you so you wouldn't do something rash." For the first time since I began speaking, my emotions invaded. My voice cracked, "I realized how much of a mistake I'd made when I woke alone that morning." 

"I knew things would never be just music again after that," he came to me, putting a finger under my chin to tip my head up. "It had to be all or nothing. It was the point of no return."

He wrapped me in his arms, my cheek rested against his bare chest. He stroked my hair. 

"Raoul didn't hit me until after Gustave was born." I tried to reassure him.

It didn't. For a split second the entire world stopped. 

I could almost hear Erik's soul scream.

Centuries passed. 

"I love you, Erik," I pulled back to look up into his eyes. "If you'll have me, I am yours."

His hands cupped my face as he searched my eyes. 

"Forever," I whispered. 

He bent, capturing my lips with his own. One hand curled into my hair as his other fingers made quick work of the buttons down my back. 


	22. Christine's Ring

Christine's Ring

(Erik)

This wasn't what I expected. 

Maybe I was a fool. 

Right now I was a very happy one. 

My Christine had declared her love and pronounced herself mine. Her choice. How could I even consider not accepting it as everything I'd ever wanted? 

Then the unbelievable happened. She had invited me once again to touch her, feel her. She had held me. She had kissed me. I could hear the music, the singing in her veins with every caress and every sigh. She allowed me to love her once again. She loved me once again. 

I held her afterwards, stroking her back and drinking in her presence. Her scent surrounded me. She was draped across me, rising and falling with each breath I took. Her head rested at my left shoulder as her fingertips were tracing one of the many marks of my life on my right shoulder. She was so quiet. Had it not been for that slight movement, I'd have thought her sleeping. 

I was astonished that after all I'd done, all the mistakes I'd made, she loved me. I silently swore to be the man she needed me to be. I would earn every second of her love. 

I could not equate the mistakes she made with my own. I, in my way, understood her silence. What would I have done if I knew he'd abused her in the slightest way? Visions of whips and lassos and tortures not even the Shah had envisioned flipped through my thoughts. 

The miscarriages would have been almost as awful. His determination to procreate at the endangerment of her health may have pushed me to mutilate him. Knowing he treated her as damaged goods would have brought back the murderous fantasies. 

Of course I forgave her. I blamed myself instead for not watching, confirming, protecting as I should have. 

The noonday sun filled the room. The last time I held her like this there had not even been moonlight shining through the flat's window to offer illumination. I was amazed at how the light danced on her hair. I loved how her pale skin glowed. 

She was awfully pale. Was she working too hard? She was always in the mansion or the concert hall. I never saw her in the gardens or just walking around. 

Maybe we should take a trip. Some place warmer to the south. Several performers would join travelling circuses during our off season to move through the western and southern states. I knew people in Florida, Georgia, and the Carolinas. 

My thoughts returned to the present as she shifted, placing her chin on her hands to look me in the eye. I leaned up a tad to kiss her nose. She giggled. She was so beautiful. 

Her finger traced a scar. It was on my side, jagged and curved.

"I had nightmares." 

She traced another, it wrapped around to my back. I was holding my breath waiting for her to explain. 

"After that night."

She had nightmares after laying with me? 

"I could not see anything when I came to you that night but I felt your scars. I'd sometimes dream you were being chased, tortured." She shuddered. "I thought it had happened when I heard those reports of a masked man being gunned down near the Seine."

I winced but felt a modicum of relief. My past gave her horrors not my being. My back was a spider web of marks from cat o' nine tails. My side boasted slashes. My arms, my thighs, my legs, my entire body was a testament to a life of pain. There was even an assortment of bullet wounds. I should have been dead many times over. 

There were tears in her eyes as she spoke. "Seeing them in the light, how others have hurt you. How they hurt my Erik." 

My breath caught in my throat. 

"I wish I could have saved you from this pain. God gave you so many gifts. I so wish they had not been wrapped in so many tragedies." 

I wanted to offer her comfort. "Every step of my life brought me closer to you. I can not regret even these scars because they led me to you." 

I gently rolled her off of me and propped up on an elbow to look her in the eyes. 

"Every single one has a story. Some are absolutely my fault." I would not burden her with all of them but I straightened my other elbow drawing attention to the intravenous drug track marks. The way I dealt with some of my worst choices was by making other bad choices. 

She hadn't known about the drugs. 

"Some were accidents," My scarred wrist on the same side had been from a broken mirror as a child. I'd almost bled to death. My mother's friend saved me. 

Tears sprang into her eyes knowing my mother would have allowed me to die. 

"Some were valuable lessons," I pointed to the Punjab Lasso mark low on my neck. I'd learned a terrible trade. 

She shivered, possibly remembering the opera house. 

"And one was an admission of stupidity." I sat up. 

This one was important to our continuing story. She pulled the blankets to her and sat up on the pillows. I showed her the entrance and exit bullet wounds on my left shoulder. 

"I decided I was a fool. You had come to me and I had left while you were sleeping. I ran away from you. You were supposed to have a perfect life without me. I was so convinced that no one could ever love me…" 

I had to gather my thoughts, calm my emotions. This was a harder story to tell. 

"I was going to your home. I had no plan. Perhaps I was going to knock on the door or maybe climb through the window. I think I'd driven myself mad for leaving you that morning. I didn't want to live without you a moment longer even if it meant stealing you away." 

I paused at that admission. I didn't want to remind her of my less admirable qualities. 

"I wasn't being careful. I felt the bullet before I knew I'd been spotted. I barely escaped to Madame Giry. Thanks to blood loss, I was on a ship before I came to my senses."

"You… you didn't want to leave me? You didn't do it on purpose? "

The inflection, the crushed sound in her voice, I pulled her to me as tightly as I could. 

"Never," I swore with all my heart into her curls. "I promise I'll never again leave you."

She shivered in my arms before molding to me. "I shall never leave you again."

  
  
  


(Christine) 

Erik stepped back through the hidden connecting panel of our rooms. The only accoutrements he was missing from his ever formal attire sat on the table beside the full length mirror I stood in front of adjusting my dress. He walked up and began dealing with the buttons on the back I could not hope to reach. He tilted his head and averted his eyes so he could avoid seeing himself in the mirror as he did. 

I sighed and leaned back into him as he finished. One arm went across my chest, the other across my waist. I laced my fingers through his fingers at my waist and placed my other hand on his elbow at my shoulder. 

It felt so good to have him surrounding me. It felt like I was home. He buried the deformed side of his face in my hair. 

"I failed you. I never should have left you. I should have taken you away," he whispered. 

"You are forgiven." I waited for his eyes to find mine in the mirror. "I should have talked to you. I should have trusted you with everything. Do you forgive me?"

"Without reservation." His grip tightened. 

" _ Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Lead me, save me from my solitude _ ." I whispered a slight variation of the song he'd sung to me on the opera house stage the night of Don Juan Triumphant. " _ Say you need me with you here beside you. Promise me that all you say is true _ ."

"My Christine…" he breathed my name like a prayer. 

_ "Love me, that's all I ask of you." _

His gorgeous gold flecked eyes glistened. His lips parted to respond. 

The door opened. My hands kept him from jumping away from me. 

His entire form was tense, but he complied, surely feeling awkward as he obscured his face in my dark curls again. 

Gustave stood staring at us before finding his voice. "I'm sorry. I thought you were alone, Mother."

I wondered what he thought. He'd never seen me in the arms of any man other than Raoul. He'd rarely seen me in Raoul's arms in a kind way. 

"Give your father a moment, Gustave. He hasn't adjusted to you seeing him without his mask."

The boy processed my words. "Of course. Sorry, Father." He turned his back. 

I released my hold. He swept the mask and wig up and into place.

"Thank you," Erik spoke to us both. "I'll take my leave."

He took a couple of steps before turning back. I saw his eyes focus on my hands. What was he thinking? Erik stepped back to me as he took something off his finger to press into my hand, closing my fingers around the item. He placed a light kiss on my fist before leaving. 

I opened my hand. Inside was a circle of gold with a black onyx wrapped in diamonds. 

The ring. 

It was the ring he'd given me on stage. It was the ring I'd given back to him as I sobbed later that night. 

Carefully, I placed it on the ring finger that my wedding band had vacated the morning after the gala. 

My son was watching me intently. 

"Gustave?" I prompted, interrupting his thoughts. 

"I wanted to be sure you were alright after the letters."

I sighed. Better now than later, I reasoned.

"Raoul sent a divorce decree." The boy deserved to know. 

Divorce, annulment, whatever the name, especially in a titled family, had repercussions. I glanced at the desk where it sat. The other remained unopened. 

"I'm glad," he said to my surprise. "I was concerned he would try to reconcile. You've given him so much to give me a proper name. I don't want you to continue to put yourself in danger for me."

I looked at my son, my beautiful, intelligent son. He had understood far more than I ever realized. I had failed to recall that my Gustave was Erik's son, a genius. In my wish to protect him, I had also underestimated him. 

He grinned, "Besides, this is America. I don't think they feel the same about things here."

Oh, I prayed he was right. I hugged him tightly. When had he become a man? 

"And your letter?"

"I haven't read it yet. I went and helped Dr. Gangle. I'm on my way out again to meet the twins. They needed another hand. I realized I missed lunch and I didn't want you to worry. I'll be back for dinner."

"Thank you, Gustave."

I kissed his head and sent him on his way. I went to put the bed covers and pillows back as they should be. 

"My Erik," I sighed. 

Then I dissolved into tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested, I envision Erik's face as Ramin Karimloo's look from the POTO 25th Anniversary. Stature wise, though, I prefer taller, more imposing Phantoms like Jonathan Roxmouth. So big dude.  
> The Christine in my head is always pictured as very petite like Megan Picerno.  
> Raoul is easy: Simon Gleeson. Why? Because I adore Hadley Fraser too much to make him a bad guy.


	23. Gustave's Letter

Gustave's Letter

(Gustave) 

The evening meal was decidedly different. 

Maman seemed to make it a point to conspicuously fiddle with the ring on her finger as she entered the dining room. Father stared for several long moments at her hand. The only word I could think of was awe when he finally looked into her eyes. 

She gave him such a lovely smile. 

Conversation was light and happy. I decided the divorce papers had given permission for gaiety. I also noticed the gentle touches, fingertips ghosting over arms, a greater level of comfort between them. 

I had my suspicions that what had occurred that morning was a bit more than just discussions. I wondered if I should have felt an urge to protect her honor but I couldn't see it as wrong. 

I was astounded at how fast I'd come to think of the mysterious Mr. Y as my father and my father of ten years as just the vicomte. Maybe I should have felt a sense of disloyalty. I did not. 

The man in the mask loved her. He respected her. He did not treat her how the vicomte did. He treated her like a precious treasure. 

During the meal, the conversation took a turn towards fun: chess. It started with a story about a Russian tzar. Apparently my father had enjoyed decimating the court in their game. 

"But that was then," I said nonchalantly but my grin spoke of challenge. 

The game board was waiting when we stepped through to the parlor thanks to Annie. Maman sat with her knitting as we faced off. 

A couple of hours and many interruptions of laughter later, we sat impossibly tied. We shook hands. He was noticeably impressed. 

"Well done, gentlemen!" Maman applauded. 

I chose to retire after that. It had been a long day.

The letter sat on my desk. It was the first thing I saw as I entered my room. It seemed to stick out. A glaring something that didn't belong amidst my possessions. It taunted me, daring me to open it. 

It had been a good day. I'd fixed an automaton. I'd finally accomplished a standing back flip on the trampoline. I'd seen my mother happy. 

I knew I could handle anything the vicomte threw at me. 

Except I couldn't. I was not ready for the contents of my letter. 

He had sent me a dossier of a monster based on my quick glance through the material. 

There were news articles, police reports, eye witness accounts, photostats, pictures, and a long detailed letter written by him. 

There were nearly a dozen languages represented in the stack of papers. Several I knew. Some I'd been learning thanks to the books I was reading in the library. Some were picked up along the way as conversations occurred among the people of Phantasma. A few I would need to find. One I suspected was Romanian. I'd have to find a way to get Madame Rachel to help without letting her know why. I wondered if she had a book I could borrow. 

Le Vicomte had no idea how fast I could pick up a language. I'm sure he expected me to just walk up to Maman with the stuff requesting help. He apparently hoped to destroy any relationship between us and my father. 

That was not going to happen. I would know what it said before I'd consider showing any of it to her. It could all be lies! He was not going to use me to cause her pain. I had been his excuse often enough.

But it could be truth. What did I know of his past? What did Maman know? He could be a monster. If so, I needed to work quickly in order to protect my mother. 

The largest stack included her name in the French headlines. I put that stack aside and picked up the Italian first. 

I'd read about her later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I haven't abandoned this project. I've been reworking it. I promise to make up my mind about a major character so that I can finish this. I hate leaving things undone. Stay warm!


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